PLUNGED   INTO  A   RECKLESS   FLIRTATION  WITH 
MAR\,  THE  CHAMBERMAID" 


MUCH  ADO 
ABOUT    PETER 


BY 

JEAN  WEBSTER 


AUTHOR  OF 

DADDY  LONG- LEGS, 
DEAR  ENEMY,  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

GROSSET    &     DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 

Made  in  tue  drilled  States  of  America 


ALL   RIGHTS    RESERVED,    INCLUDING   THAT   Of   TRANSLATION 
INTO   FOREIGN   LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 

COPYRIGHT,    1905,  BY   THE   S.   S.   VcCL'JRE  COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT,    1907,   BY  THE   CROWELL   PUBLISHING   COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT,    1908,   BY   THE   PHILLIPS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT,    1909,   BY   HAMPTON'S  BROADWAY  MAGAZINE 

COPYKIGHT,   1909,   BY  DOUBLEDAY,   PAGE   &   COMPAMY 
PUBLISHED,   MAKC.H,    2909 


STACK 

PS 
35^5" 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTEK  rum 

I.  Gervie  Zame,  Gervie  Door         •  3 

II.  The  Ruffled  Frock    ...  33 

III.  Their  Innocent  Diversions           .  57 

IV.  Dignity  and  the  Elephant            .  81 
V.  The  Rise  of  Vittorio           .  113 

VI.  Held  for  Ransom       .          .          .  139 

VII.  George  Washington's  Under 
study     .....  175 

VIII.  A  Usurped  Perogative        .          .  209 

IX.  Mrs.  Carter  as  Fate             .          .  243 

X.  A  Parable  for  Husbands  281 


GERVIE  ZAME,  GERVIE  DOOR 


Much  Ado  About  Peter 

i 

GERVIE   ZAME,    GERVIE  DOOR 

PETER  and  Billy,  the  two  upper  grooms  at 
Willowbrook,  were  polishing  the  sides 
of  the  tall  mail  phaeton  with  chamois-skin 
rubbers  and  whistling,  each  a  different  tune, 
as  they  worked.  So  intent  were  they  upon 
this  musical  controversy  that  they  were  not 
aware  of  Mrs.  Carter's  approach  until  her 
shadow  darkened  the  carriage-house  door 
way.  She  gathered  up  her  skirts  in  both  hands 
and  gingerly  stepped  inside.  Peter  had  been 
swashing  water  about  with  a  liberal  hand, 
and  the  carriage-house  floor  was  damp. 

"Where  is   Joe?"   she  inquired. 

"  He  's  out  in  the  runway,  ma'am,  jumpin* 

3 


4        MUCH   ADO   ABOUT   PETER 

Blue  Gipsy.  Shall  I  call  him,  ma'am?" 
Billy  answered,  as  the  question  appeared  to  be 
addressed  to  him. 

"No  matter,"  said  Mrs.  Carter,  "one  of 
you  will  do  as  well." 

She  advanced  into  the  room,  walking  as 
nearly  as  possible  on  her  heels.  It  was  some 
thing  of  a  feat;  Mrs.  Carter  was  not  so  light 
as  she  had  been  twenty-five  years  before. 
Peter  followed  her  movements  with  a  shade 
of  speculative  wonder  in  his  eye;  should  she 
slip  it  would  be  an  undignified  exhibition. 
There  was  even  a  shade  of  hope  beneath  his 
respectful  gaze. 

"  Why  do  you  use  so  much  water,  Peter  ? 
Is  it  necessary  to  get  the  floor  so  wet  ?" 

"It  runs  off,  ma'am." 

"It  is  very  unpleasant  to  walk  in." 

Peter  winked  at  Billy  with  his  off  eye,  and 
stood  at  attention  until  she  should  have 
finished  her  examination  of  the  newly  washed 
phaeton. 


GERVIE  ZAME,  GERVIE  DOOR      5 

"The  cushions  are  dripping  wet,"  she 
observed. 

"I  washed  'em  on  purpose,  ma'am.  They 
was  spattered  thick  with  mud." 

"There  is  danger  of  spoiling  the  leather 
if  you  put  on  too  much  water." 

She  turned  to  an  inspection  of  the  rest  of 
the  room,  sniffing  dubiously  in  the  corner 
where  the  harness  greasing  was  carried  on, 
and  lifting  her  skirts  a  trifle  higher. 

"It's  disgustingly  dirty,"  she  commented, 
"but  I  suppose  you  can't  help  it." 

"Axle  grease  is  sort  o'  black,"  Peter  agreed 
graciously. 

"Well,"  she  resumed,  returning  to  her 
errand  with  an  appearance  of  reluctance,  "I 
want  you,  William  —  or  Peter  either,  it  does  n't 
matter  which  —  to  drive  into  the  village  this 
evening  to  meet  the  eight-fifteen  train  from 
the  city.  I  am  expecting  a  new  maid.  Take 
Trixy  and  the  buckboard  and  bring  her  trunk 
out  with  you.  Eight-fifteen,  remember,"  she 


6        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

added  as  she  turned  toward  the  doorway. 
"Be  sure  to  be  on  time,  for  she  won't  know 
what  to  do." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Peter  and  Billy  in 
chorus. 

They  watched  in  silence  her  gradual  retreat 
to  the  house.  She  stopped  once  or  twice  to 
examine  critically  a  clipped  shrub  or  a  freshly 
spaded  flower-bed,  but  she  finally  passed  out 
of  hearing.  Billy  uttered  an  eloquent  grunt; 
while  Peter  hitched  up  his  trousers  in  both 
hands  and  commenced  a  tour  of  the  room 
on  his  heels. 

"William,"  he  squeaked  in  a  high  falsetto, 
"you  fve  spilt  a  great  deal  more  water  than 
is  necessary  on  this  here  floor.  You  'd 
ought  to  be  more  careful;  it  will  warp  the 
boards." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Billy  with  a  grin. 

"An*  goodness  me!  What  is  this  horrid 
stuff  in  this  box?"  He  sniffed  daintily  at  the 
harness  grease.  "How  many  times  must  I 


GERVIE  ZAME,  GERVIE  DOOR      7 

tell  you,  William,  that  I  don't  want  anything 
like  that  on  my  harnesses  ?  I  want  them 
washed  in  nice,  clean  soap  an*  water,  with  a 
little  dash  of  ee-oo-dee  cologne" 

Billy  applauded  with  appreciation. 

"An*  now,  Peter,"  Peter  resumed,  addressing 
an  imaginary  self,  "I  am  expectin*  a  new  maid 
to-night  —  a  pretty  little  French  maid  just 
like  Annette.  I  am  sure  that  she  will  like  you 
better  than  any  o'  the  other  men,  so  I  wish 
you  to  meet  her  at  the  eight-fifteen  train.  Be 
sure  to  be  on  time,  for  the  poor  little  thing 
won't  know  what  to  do." 

"No,  you  don't,"  interrupted  Billy.  "She 
told  me  to  meet  her." 

"  She  did  n't  either,"  said  Peter,  quickly 
reassuming  his  proper  person.  "She  said 
either  of  us,  which  ever  was  most  convenient, 
an*  I  Ve  got  to  go  into  town  anyway  on  an 
errand  for  Miss  Ethel." 

"She  said  me,"  maintained  Billy,  "an* 
I  'm  goin*  to." 


8         MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"Aw,  are  you?"  jeered  Peter.  "You'll 
walk,  then.  I  'm  takin'  Trixy  with  me." 

"Hey,  Joe,"  called  Billy,  as  the  coachman's 
steps  were  heard  approaching  down  the  length 
of  the  stable,  "  Mrs.  Carter  come  out  here  an' 
said  I  was  to  meet  a  new  maid  to-night,  an* 
Pete  says  he  's  goin'  to.  Just  come  an*  tell 
him  to  mind  'is  own  business." 

Joe  appeared  in  the  doorway,  with  a  cap 
cocked  on  the  side  of  his  head,  and  a  short 
bull-dog  pipe  in  his  mouth.  It  was  strictly 
against  the  rules  to  smoke  in  the  stables,  but 
Joe  had  been  autocrat  so  long  that  he  made 
his  own  rules.  He  could  trust  himself  —  but 
woe  to  the  groom  who  so  much  as  scratched 
a  safety-match  within  his  domain. 

"A  new  maid  is  it?"  he  inquired,  as  a  grin 
of  comprehension  leisurely  spread  itself  across 
his  good-natured  rubicund  face.  "I  s'pose 
you  're  thinking  it 's  pretty  near  your  turn, 
hey,  Billy?" 

"I   don't  care  nothin'   about  new  maids," 


GERVIE  ZAME,  GERVIE  DOOR      9 
said    Billy,    sulkily,    "but    Mrs.    Carter    said 


me." 


"  You  're  awful  particular  all  of  a  sudden 
about  obeying  orders,"  said  Joe.  "I  don't 
care  which  one  of  you  fetches  out  the  new 
maid,"  he  added.  "I  s'pose  if  Pete  wants  to, 
he  's  got  the  first  say." 

The  Carter  stables  were  ruled  by  a  hierarchy 
with  Joe  at  the  head,  the  order  of  precedence 
being  based  upon  a  union  of  seniority  and 
merit.  Joe  had  ruled  for  twelve  years.  He 
had  held  the  position  so  long  that  he  had 
insidiously  come  to  believe  in  the  divine  right 
of  coachmen.  Nothing  short  of  a  revolution 
could  have  dislodged  him  against  his  will; 
in  a  year  or  so,  however,  he  was  planning  to 
abdicate  in  order  to  start  a  livery  stable  of  his 
own.  The  money  was  even  now  waiting  in  the 
bank.  Peter,  who  had  commenced  as  stable- 
boy  ten  years  before,  was  heir-presumptive 
to  the  place,  and  the  shadow  of  his  future 
greatness  was  already  upon  him.  Billy,  who 


io       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

had  served  but  a  few  meagre  months  at 
Willowbrook,  did  not  realize  that  the  highest 
honours  are  obtained  only  after  a  painful 
novitiate.  He  saw  no  reason  why  he  should 
not  be  coachman  another  year  just  as  much 
as  Peter;  in  fact,  he  saw  several  reasons  why 
he  should  be.  He  drove  as  well,  he  was 
better  looking  —  he  told  himself  —  and  he  was 
infinitely  larger.  To  Billy's  simple  understand 
ing  it  was  quantity,  not  quality,  that  makes 
the  man.  He  resented  Peter's  assumption 
of  superiority,  and  he  intended,  when  oppor 
tunity  should  present  itself,  to  take  it  out  of 
Peter. 

"I  don't  care  about  fetchin*  out  the  new 
maid  any  more  than  Billy,"  Peter  nonchalantly 
threw  off  after  a  prolonged  pause,  "only  I  Ve 
got  to  take  a  note  to  the  Holidays  for  Miss 
Ethel,  and  I  'd  just  as  lief  stop  at  the  station; 
it  won't  be  much  out  o'  me  way." 

"All  right,"  said  Joe.     "Suit  yourself." 
Peter  smiled  slightly  as  he  fell  to  work  againv 


GERVIE  ZAME,  GERVIE  DOOR     11 

humming  under  his  breath  a  song  that  was 
peculiarly  aggravating  to  Billy.  "Je  vous 
aime,  je  vous  adore"  it  ran.  Peter  trilled  it, 
" Gervie  zame,  gervie  door"  but  it  answered 
the  purpose  quite  as  well  as  if  it  had  been 
pronounced  with  the  best  Parisian  accent. 

The  last  maid  —  the  one  who  had  left  four 
days  before  —  had  been  French,  and  during 
her  three  weeks'  reign  at  Willowbrook  she  had 
stirred  to  its  foundations  every  unattached 
masculine  heart  on  the  premises.  Even  Simp- 
kins,  the  elderly  English  butler,  had  unbent 
and  smiled  foolishly  when  she  coquettishly 
chucked  him  under  the  chin  in  passing  through 
the  hall.  Mary,  the  chambermaid,  had  been 
a  witness  to  this  tender  passage,  and  poor 
Simpkins's  dignity  ever  since  had  walked  on 
shaky  ground.  But  Annette's  charms  had 
conquered  more  than  Simpkins.  Tom,  the 
gardener,  had  spent  the  entire  three  weeks  of 
her  stay  in  puttering  about  the  shrubs  that 


12        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

grew  in  the  vicinity  of  the  house;  while  the 
stablemen  had  frankly  prostrated  themselves 
—  with  the  exception  of  Joe,  who  was  married 
and  not  open  to  Gallic  allurements.  It  was 
evident  from  the  first,  however,  that  Peter 
and  Billy  were  the  favoured  ones.  For  two 
weeks  the  race  between  them  had  been  even, 
and  then  Peter  had  slowly,  but  perceptibly, 
pulled  ahead. 

He  had  returned  one  morning  from  an  errand 
to  the  house  with  a  new  song  upon  his  lips. 
It  was  in  the  French  language.  He  sang  it 
through  several  times  with  insistent  and  tender 
emphasis.  Billy  maintained  a  proud  silence 
as  long  as  curiosity  would  permit;  finally  he 
inquired  gruffly: 

"What 's  that  you  're  givin'  us  ?" 

"  It 's  a  song,"  said  Peter,  modestly. 
"Annette  taught  it  to  me,"  and  he  hummed 
it  through  again. 

"What  does  it  mean  ?" 

Peter's  rendering  was  free. 


GERVIE  ZAME,  GERVIE  DOOR    13 

"It  means,"  he  said,  "I  don't  love  no  one 
but  you,  me  dear." 

This  episode  was  the  beginning  of  strained 
relations  between  the  two.  There  is  no  telling 
how  far  their  differences  would  have  gone, 
had  the  firebrand  not  been  suddenly  removed. 

One  morning  Joe  was  kept  waiting  under  the 
porte-cochere  unusually  long  for  Mrs.  Carter 
to  start  on  her  daily  progress  to  the  village, 
but  instead  of  Mrs.  Carter,  finally,  his  pas 
senger  was  Annette  —  bound  to  the  station 
with  her  belongings  piled  about  her.  Joe 
had  a  wife  of  his  own,  and  it  was  none  of  his 
affair  what  happened  to  Annette,  but  he  had 
observed  the  signs  of  the  weather  among  his 
underlings,  and  he  was  interested  on  their 
account  to  know  the  wherefore  of  the  business. 
Annette,  however  —  for  a  French  woman  — 
was  undemonstrative.  All  that  Joe  gathered 
in  return  for  his  sympathetic  questions  (they 
were  sympathetic;  Joe  was  human  even  if 
he  was  married)  was  a  series  of  indignant 


H       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

sniffs,  and  the  assertion  that  she  was  going 
because  she  wanted  to  go.  She  would  n't 
work  any  longer  in  a  place  like  that;  Mrs. 
Carter  was  an  old  cat,  and  Miss  Ethel  was 
a  young  one.  She  finished  with  some  idiomatic 
French,  the  context  of  which  Joe  did  not 
gather. 

Billy  received  the  news  of  the  departure  with 
unaffected  delight,  and  Peter  with  philosophy. 
After  all,  Annette  had  only  had  three  weeks 
in  which  to  do  her  work,  and  three  weeks  was 
too  short  a  space  for  even  the  most  fetching 
of  French  maids  to  stamp  a  very  deep  impres 
sion  upon  Peter's  roving  fancy.  Four  days 
had  passed  and  his  wound  was  nearly  healed. 
He  was  able  to  sit  up  and  look  about  again 
by  the  time  that  Mrs.  Carter  ordered  the 
meeting  of  the  second  maid.  Ordinarily  the 
grooms  would  not  have  been  so  eager  to  receive 
the  assignment  of  an  unallotted  task,  but  the 
memory  of  Annette  still  rankled,  and  it  was 
felt  between  them  that  the  long  drive  from  the 


GERVIE  ZAME,  GERVIE  DOOR    15 

station  was  a  golden  opportunity  for  gaining  a 
solid  start  in  the  newcomer's  affections. 

The  stablemen  did  not  eat  with  the  house 
servants;  Joe's  wife  furnished  their  meals  in 
the  coachman's  cottage.  That  evening  Peter 
scrambled  through  his  supper  in  evident  haste. 
He  had  an  important  engagement,  he  explained, 
with  a  meaning  glance  toward  Billy.  He  did 
take  time  between  mouthfuls,  however,  to 
remark  on  the  fact  that  it  was  going  to  be  a 
beautiful  moonlight  night,  just  a  "foin"  time 
for  a  drive. 

An  hour  later,  Billy  having  somewhat  sulkily 
hitched  Trixy  to  the  buckboard  under  Joe's 
direction,  Peter  swaggered  in  with  pink  and 
white  freshly  shaven  face,  smelling  of  bay-rum 
and  the  barber's,  with  shining  top-hat  and 
boots,  and  spotless  white  breeches,  looking  as 
immaculate  a  groom  as  could  be  found  within 
a  hundred  miles  of  New  York.  He  jauntily  took 
his  seat,  waved  his  whip  toward  Billy  and  Joe, 
and  touched  up  Trixy  with  a  grin  of  farewell. 


1 6       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

Later  in  the  evening  the  men  were  lounging 
in  a  clump  of  laurels  at  one  side  of  the  carriage- 
house,  where  a  hammock  and  several  battered 
veranda  chairs  had  drifted  out  from  the  house 
for  the  use  of  the  stable  hands.  Simpkins, 
who  occasionally  unbent  sufficiently  to  join 
them,  was  with  the  party  to-night,  and  he 
heard  the  story  of  Peter's  latest  perfidy.  Simp- 
kins  could  sympathize  with  Billy;  his  own 
sensibilities  had  been  sadly  lacerated  in  the 
matter  of  Annette.  Joe  leaned  back  and 
smoked  comfortably,  lending  his  voice  occa 
sionally  to  the  extent  of  a  grunt.  The  grooms' 
differences  were  nothing  to  him,  but  they 
served  their  purpose  as  amusement. 

Presently  the  roll  of  wheels  sounded  on 
the  gravel,  and  they  all  strained  forward  with 
alert  interest.  The  driveway  leading  to  the 
back  door  swerved  broadly  past  the  laurels, 
and  —  as  Peter  had  remarked  —  it  was  a 
bright  moonlight  night.  The  cart  came  into 
view,  bowling  fast,  Peter  as  stiff  as  a  ramrod 


GERVIE  ZAME,  GERVIE  DOOR    17 

staring  straight  ahead,  while  beside  him  sat  a 
brawny  Negro  woman  twice  his  size,  with 
rolling  black  eyes  and  gleaming  white  teeth. 
An  explosion  sounded  from  the  laurels,  and 
Peter,  who  knew  what  it  meant,  cut  Trixy 
viciously. 

He  dumped  his  passenger's  box  upon  the 
back  veranda  with  a  thud,  and  drove  on  to 
the  stables  where  he  unhitched  poor  patient 
little  Trixy  in  a  most  unsympathetic  fashion. 
Billy  strolled  in  while  he  was  still  engaged 
with  her  harness.  Peter  affected  not  to  notice 
him.  Billy  commenced  to  hum,  "Je  vous  aime, 
je  vous  adore"  He  was  no  French  scholar; 
he  had  not  had  Peter's  advantages,  but  the 
tune  alone  was  sufficiently  suggestive. 

"Aw,  dry  up,"  said  Peter. 

"Pleasant  moonlight  night,"  said  Billy. 

Peter  threw  the  harness  on  to  the  hook  with 
a  vicious  turn  that  landed  the  most  of  it  on 
the  floor,  and  stumped  upstairs  to  his  room 
over  the  carriage-house. 


18       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

For  the  next  few  days  Peter's  life  was  ren 
dered  a  burden.  Billy  and  Joe  and  Simpkins 
and  Tom,  even  good-natured  Nora  in  the 
kitchen,  never  met  him  without  covert  allusions 
to  the  affair.  The  gardener  at  Jasper  Place, 
next  door,  called  over  the  hedge  one  morning 
to  inquire  if  they  did  n't  have  a  new  maid  at 
their  house.  On  the  third  day  after  the  arrival 
the  matter  reached  its  logical  conclusion. 

"Hey,  Pete,"  Billy  called  up  to  him  in  the 
loft  where  he  was  pitching  down  hay  for  the 
horses.  "Come  down  here  quick;  there's 
some  one  wants  to  see  you." 

Peter  clambered  down  wearing  an  expectant 
look,  and  was  confronted  by  the  three  grinning 
faces  of  Billy,  Tom,  and  David  McKenna, 
the  gardener  from  Jasper  Place. 

"It  was  Miss  Johnsing,"  said  Billy.  "She 
was  in  a  hurry  an'  said  she  could  n't  wait,  but 
she  'd  like  to  have  you  meet  her  on  the  back 
stoop.  She 's  got  a  new  song  she  wants  to 
teach  you." 


GERVIE  ZAME,  GERVIE  DOOR     19 

Peter  took  off  his  coat  and  looked  Billy  over 
for  a  soft  spot  on  which  to  begin.  Billy  took 
off  his  coat  and  accepted  the  challenge,  while 
David,  who  was  a  true  Scotchman  in  his  love 
of  war,  delightedly  suggested  that  they  with 
draw  to  a  more  secluded  spot.  The  four 
trooped  in  silence  to  a  clump  of  willow  trees 
in  the  lower  pasture,  Peter  grimly  marching 
ahead. 

Billy  was  a  huge,  loose-jointed  fellow  who 
looked  as  if  he  could  have  picked  up  little 
Peter  and  slung  him  over  his  shoulder  like  a 
sack  of  flour.  Peter  was  slight  and  wiry 
and  quick.  He  had  once  intended  to  be  a 
jockey,  but  in  spite  of  an  anxious  avoidance 
of  potatoes  and  other  fattening  food-stuffs, 
he  had  steadily  grown  away  from  it.  When 
he  finally  reached  one  hundred  and  sixty-six 
pounds  he  relinquished  his  ambition  forever. 
Those  one  hundred  and  sixty-six  pounds  were 
so  beautifully  distributed,  however,  that  the 
casual  observer  would  never  have  guessed 


20        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

their  presence,  and  many  a  weightier  man  had 
found  to  his  sorrow  that  Peter  did  not  belong 
to  the  class  he  looked. 

The  hostilities  opened  with  Billy's  good- 
natured  remark:  "I  don't  want  to  hurt  you, 
Petey.  I  just  want  to  teach  you  manners." 

Ten  minutes  later  Peter  had  taught  him 
manners,  and  was  striding  across  the  fields  to 
work  ofF  his  surplus  energy,  while  Billy,  whose 
florid  face  had  taken  on  a  livelier  tinge,  was 
comforting  a  fast-swelling  eye  at  the  drinking 
trough. 

It  was  the  last  that  Peter  heard  of  the  maid, 
except  for  a  mild  lecture  from  Joe.  "See  here, 
Pete,"  he  was  greeted  upon  his  return,  "  I  'm 
given  to  understand  that  you  Ve  been  fighting 
for  your  lady-love.  I  just  want  you  to  remem 
ber  one  thing,  young  man,  and  that  is  that 
I  won't  have  no  fighting  about  these  premises 
in  business  hours.  You  Ve  laid  up  Billy  for 
the  day,  and  you  can  go  and  do  his  work." 

Three  weeks  rolled  over  the  head  of   "Miss 


GERVIE  ZAME,  GERVIE  DOOR     21 

Johnsing, "  and  then  she,  too,  departed.  It 
developed  that  a  husband  had  returned  from 
a  vacation  on  "the  island"  and  wished  to 
settle  down  to  family  life  again.  A  week 
passed  at  Willowbrook  without  a  parlour 
maid,  and  then  one  day,  as  Peter  returned 
from  the  lower  meadow  where  he  had  been 
trying  to  entice  a  reluctant  colt  into  putting  its 
head  into  the  halter,  he  was  hailed  by  Joe  with : 

"Say,  Pete,  Mrs.  Carter  sent  out  word  that 
you  're  to  go  to  the  station  to-night  and  fetch 
out  a  new  maid." 

"Aw,  go  on,"  said  Peter. 

"That 's  straight." 

"  If  there  's  a  new  maid  comin*  Billy  can 
get  her.  I  ain't  interested  in  maids." 

"Them  's  orders,"  said  Joe.  "  'Tell  Peter,' 
she  says,  'that  he  's  to  drive  in  with  the  buck- 
board  and  meet  the  eight-fifteen  train  from 
the  city.  I  'm  expectin'  a  new  maid,'  she 
says,  but  she  neglected  to  mention  what  colour 
she  was  expectin'  her  to  be." 


22       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

Peter  grunted  by  way  of  answer,  and  Joe 
chuckled  audibly  as  he  hitched  up  his  trousers 
and  roiled  off  toward  his  own  house  to  tell  his 
wife  the  joke.  The  subject  was  covertly 
alluded  to  at  supper  that  night,  with  various 
speculations  as  to  the  colour,  nationality,  and 
possible  size  of  the  newcomer.  Peter  emphati 
cally  stated  his  intention  of  not  going  near 
the  blame  station.  When  the  train  hour 
approached,  however,  the  stables  were  con 
spicuously  empty,  and  there  was  nothing  for 
him  to  do  but  swallow  his  assertion  and  meet 
the  maid. 

As  he  drove  down  the  hill  toward  the  station 
he  saw  that  the  eight-fifteen  train  was  already 
in,  but  he  noted  the  fact  without  emotion. 
He  was  not  going  to  hurry  himself  for  all  the 
maids  in  creation;  she  could  just  wait  until 
he  got  there.  He  drew  up  beside  the  plat 
form  and  sat  surveying  the  people  with  mild 
curiosity  until  such  time  as  the  maid  chose  to 
search  him  out.  But  his  pulses  suddenly 


GERVIE  ZAME,  GERVIE  DOOR     23 

quickened  as  he  heard  a  clear  voice,  with  an 
adorable  suggestion  of  brogue  behind  it,  inquire 
of  the  station-master: 

"Will  you  tell  me,  sor,  how  I  '11  be  gettin' 
to  Mr.  Jerome  B.  Carter's?'* 

"  Here  's  one  of  the  Carter  rigs  now,"  said 
the  man. 

The  girl  turned  quickly  and  faced  Peter, 
and  all  his  confused  senses  told  him  that  she 
was  pretty  —  prettier  than  Annette  —  pretty 
beyond  all  precedent.  Her  eyes  were  blue, 
and  her  hair  was  black  and  her  colour  was  the 
colour  that  comes  from  a  childhood  spent 
out  of  doors  in  County  Cork. 

He  hastily  scrambled  out  of  his  seat  and 
touched  his  hat.  "  Beggin'  yer  pardon,  ma'am, 
are  ye  the  new  maid  ?  Mrs.  Carter  sent  me 
to  fetch  ye  out.  If  ye  '11  gi'  me  yer  check, 
ma'am,  I  '11  get  yer  trunk." 

The  girl  gave  up  her  check  silently,  quite 
abashed  by  this  very  dressy  young  groom. 
She  had  served  during  the  two  years  of  her 


24        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

American  experience  as  "second  girl"  in  a 
brown-stone  house  in  a  side  street,  and  though 
she  had  often  watched  men  of  Peter's  kind 
from  a  bench  by  the  park  driveway,  she  had 
never  in  her  life  come  so  near  to  one  as  this. 
While  he  was  searching  for  her  trunk,  she  hastily 
climbed  into  the  cart  and  moved  to  the  extreme 
end  of  the  left  side  of  the  seat,  lest  the  apparition 
should  return  and  offer  assistance.  She  sat 
up  very  stiffly,  wondering  meanwhile,  with  a 
beating  heart,  if  he  would  talk  or  just  stare 
straight  ahead  the  way  they  did  in  the  park. 

Peter  helped  the  baggage-man  lift  in  her 
trunk,  and  as  he  did  it  he  paused  to  take  a 
good  square  look.  "Gee,  but  Billy  will  want 
to  kick  himself!"  was  his  delighted  inward 
comment  as  he  clambered  up  beside  her  and 
gathered  the  reins  in  his  hands.  They  drove 
up  the  hill  without  speaking,  but  once  Peter 
shot  a  sidewise  glance  at  her  at  the  same 
moment  that  she  looked  at  him,  and  they  both 
turned  pink.  This  was  embarrassing,  but 


GERVIE  ZAME,  GERVIE  DOOR     25 

reassuring.  He  was,  then,  nothing  but  a 
man  in  spite  of  his  clothes,  and  with  a  man 
she  knew  how  to  deal. 

A  full  moon  was  rising  above  the  trees  and 
the  twilight  was  fading  into  dusk.  As  Billy 
had  justly  observed  at  the  supper  table,  ij  was 
a  fine  night  in  which  to  get  acquainted.  The 
four  miles  between  the  station  and  Willow- 
brook  suddenly  dwindled  into  insignificance 
in  Peter's  sight,  and  at  the  top  of  the  hill 
he  turned  Trixy's  head  in  exactly  the  wrong 
direction. 

"If  ye  have  no  objections,"  he  observed, 
"we  '11  drive  the  long  way  by  the  beach  because 
the  roads  is  better." 

The  new  maid  had  no  objections,  or  at  least 
she  did  not  voice  any,  and  they  rolled  along 
between  the  fragrant  hedgerows  in  silence. 
Peter  was  laboriously  framing  to  himself  an 
opening  remark,  and  he  found  nothing  ludicrous 
in  the  situation;  but  to  the  girl,  whose  Irish 
sense  of  humour  was  inordinately  developed, 


26        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

it  appeared  very  funny  to  be  riding  alone  beside 
a  live,  breathing  groom,  in  top-hat  and  shining 
boots,  who  turned  red  when  you  looked  at  him. 

She  suddenly  broke  into  a  laugh  —  a  low, 
clear,  bubbling  laugh  that  lodged  itself  in 
Peter's  receptive  heart.  He  looked  around 
a  moment  with  a  slightly  startled  air,  and  then, 
as  his  eyes  met  hers,  he  too  laughed.  It 
instantly  cleared  the  atmosphere.  He  pulled 
Trixy  to  a  walk  and  faced  her.  His  laborious 
introductory  speech  was  forgotten;  he  went 
to  the  point  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  I  guess  we  're  goin'  to  like  each  other  — 
you  an'  me,"  he  said  softly. 

The  moon  was  shining  and  the  hawthorn 
flowers  were  sweet.  Annie's  eyes  looked  back 
at  him  rather  shyly,  and  her  dimples  trembled 
just  below  the  surface.  Peter  hastily  turned 
his  eyes  away  lest  he  look  too  long. 

"Me  name  's  Peter,"  he  said,  "  Peter  Malone. 
Tell  me  yours,  so  we  '11  be  feelin'  acquainted." 

"Annie  O'Reilly." 


GERVIE  ZAME,  GERVIE  DOOR     27 

"Annie  O'Reilly,"  he  repeated.  "There's 
the  right  swing  to  it.  'T  is  better  than 
Annette." 

"Annette?"  inquired  Annie. 

She  had  perceived  that  he  was  a  man;  he 
now  perceived  that  she  was  a  woman,  and 
that  Annette's  name  might  better  not  have  been 
mentioned. 

"Ah,  Annette,"  he  said  carelessly  "a 
parlour-maid  we  had  a  while  ago;  an'  mighty 
glad  we  was  to  be  rid  of  her,"  he  added 
cannily. 

"Why?"  asked  Annie. 

"She  was  French;  she  had  a  temper." 

"I'm  Irish;  I  have  a  temper  —  will  ye  be 
glad  to  be  rid  o'  me  ? " 

"Oh,  an'  I'm  Irish  meself,"  laughed  Peter, 
with  a  broader  brogue  than  usual.  "'Tis  not 
Irish  tempers  I  'm  fearin'.  Thim  I  c'n 
manage." 

When  they  turned  in  at  the  gates  of  Willow- 
brook  —  some  half  an  hour  later  than  they 


28        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

were  due,  owing  to  Peter's  extemporaneous 
route  by  the  beach  —  he  slowed  Trixy  to  a  walk 
that  he  might  point  out  to  his  companion  the 
interesting  features  of  her  new  home.  As 
they  passed  the  laurels  they  were  deeply  engaged 
in  converse,  and  a  heavy  and  respectful  silence 
hung  about  the  region. 

"Good  night,  Mr.  Malone,"  said  Annie, 
as  he  deposited  her  trunk  on  the  back  veranda. 
*'  *T  is  obliged  to  ye  I  am  for  bringin*  me  out." 

"Oh,  drop  the  Mister  Malone!"  he  grinned. 
"Peter's  me  name.  Good  night,  Annie.  I 
hope  as  ye  '11  like  it.  It  won't  be  my  fault 
if  ye  don't." 

He  touched  his  hat,  and  swinging  himself 
to  the  seat,  drove  whistling  to  the  stables. 
He  unhitched  Trixy  and  gave  her  a  handful  of 
salt.  "Here,  old  girl,  what  are  ye  tryin*  to 
do?"  ne  asked  as  she  rubbed  her  nose  against 
his  shoulder,  and  he  started  her  toward  her 
stall  with  a  friendly  whack  on  the  back.  As 
he  was  putting  away  her  harness,  Billy  lounged 


GERVIE  ZAME,  GERVIE  DOOR     29 

in,  bent  on  no  errand  in  particular.  Peter 
threw  him  a  careless  nod,  and  breaking  off  his 
whistling  in  the  middle  of  a  bar,  he  fell  to 
humming  softly  a  familiar  tune.  "  Gervie  zame, 
gervie  door"  was  the  song  that  he  sang. 


THE  RUFFLED  FROCK 


II 

THE    RUFFLED   FROCK 

IT  WAS  the  Fourth  of  July,  and  Annie  was 
hurrying  with  her  work  in  order  to  get  out 
and  celebrate.  She  had  no  particular  form 
of  celebration  in  view,  but  she  had  a  strong 
feeling  that  holidays,  particularly  Fourths  of 
July,  ought  to  be  celebrated;  and  she  was 
revolving  in  her  mind  several  possible  projects, 
in  all  of  which  Peter  figured  largely.  Aside 
from  its  being  the  Fourth  of  July,  it  was  Thurs 
day,  and  Thursday  was  Peter's  afternoon  off. 
She  put  away  the  last  of  the  dishes  with  a  gay 
little  burst  of  song  as  she  glanced  through  the 
window  at  the  beckoning  outside  world.  It 
was  a  bright  sunshiny  day  with  a  refreshing 
breeze  blowing  from  the  sea.  The  blue  waters 
of  the  bay,  sparkling  at  the  foot  of  the  lower 

33 


34        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

meadow,  were  dotted  over  with  white  sail 
boats. 

"  Do  ye  want  anything  more  of  me,  Nora  ? " 
she  asked. 

"No,  be  off  with  you,  child,"  said  Nora, 
good-naturedly.  "  I  '11  finish  puttin*  to  rights 
meself,"  and  she  gathered  up  the  dish-towels 
and  carried  them  into  the  laundry. 

Annie  paused  by  the  screen  door  leading 
on  to  the  back  veranda,  and  stood  regarding 
the  stables  speculatively.  She  was  wondering 
what  would  be  the  most  diplomatic  way  of 
approaching  Peter.  Her  speculations  were 
suddenly  interrupted  by  the  appearance  in 
the  kitchen  of  Miss  Ethel,  with  a  very  beruffled 
white  muslin  frock  in  her  arms. 

"Annie,"  she  said,  "you'll  have  to  wash 
this  dress.  I  forgot  to  have  Kate  do  it  yester 
day,  and  I  want  to  wear  it  to-night.  Have 
it  ready  by  five  o'clock  and  be  careful  about 
the  lace." 

She  threw  the  frock  across  the  back  of  a 


THE  RUFFLED  FROCK  35 

chair,  and  ran  on  out  of  doors  to  join  a  laugh 
ing  crowd  of  young  people  about  the  tennis- 
court.  Annie  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor  and  watched  her  with  a  fast-clouding 
brow. 

"An*  never  so  much  as  said  please!"  she 
muttered  to  herself.  She  walked  over  and 
picked  up  the  frock.  It  was  very  elaborate 
with  ruffles  and  tuc.ks  and  lace  insertion; 
its  ironing  meant  a  good  two  hours'  work. 
Ironing  muslin  gowns  on  a  Fourth  of  July 
was  not  Annie's  business.  She  turned  it  about 
slowly  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  —  not 
of  sorrow  for  the  lost  afternoon,  but  of  anger 
at  the  injustice  of  demanding  such  work  from 
her  on  such  a  day. 

Presently  Nora  came  in  again.  She  paused 
in  the  doorway,  her  arms  akimbo,  and  regarded 
Annie. 

"What 's  that  you  Ve  got  ?"  she  inquired. 

Then  the  floodgates  of  Annie's  wrath  were 
opened  and  she  poured  out  her  tale. 


36        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"Don't  you  mind  it,  Annie  darlin',"  said 
Nora,  trying  to  comfort  her.  "Miss  Ethel 
did  n't  mean  nothin'.  She  was  in  a  hurry, 
likely,  an'  she  did  n't  stop  to  think." 

"Didn't  think!  Why  can't  she  wear  some 
other  dress  ?  She 's  got  a  whole  room  just 
full  o'  dresses,  an'  she  has  to  have  that  special 
one  ironed  at  a  minute's  notice.  An*  Kate 
comin'  three  days  in  the  week!  It  isn't  my 
place  to  wash  —  that  is  n't  what  Mrs.  Carter 
engaged  me  for  —  I  would  n't  'a'  minded  so 
much  if  she  'd  asked  it  as  a  favour,  but  she  just 
ordered  me  as  if  washin'  was  me  work.  On 
Fourth  o'  July,  too,  an'  Mrs.  Carter  tellin' 
me  I  could  have  the  afternoon  off  —  an'  all 
those  ruffles  —  'have  it  done  by  five  o'clock/ 
she  says,  an'  goes  out  to  play." 

Annie  threw  the  dress  in  a  fluffy  pile  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor. 

"I  shan't  do  it!  I  won't  be  ordered  about  that 
way  by  Miss  Ethel  or  anybody  else." 

"I  'd   do  it  for  you   meself,   Annie,   but   I 


THE  RUFFLED  FROCK  37 

could  n't  iron  that  waist  no  more  'n  a  kangaroo. 
But  you  just  get  to  work  on  it;  you  iron  beauti 
ful  and  it  won't  take  you  long  when  you  onift 
begin." 

"  Won't  take  me  long  ?  It  '11  take  me  the 
whole  afternoon;  it  '11  take  me  forever.  I 
shan't  touch  it!" 

Annie's  eyes  wandered  out  of  doors  again. 
The  sunshine  seemed  brighter,  the  songs 
of  the  birds  louder,  the  glimpse  of  the  bay 
more  enticing.  And,  as  she  looked,  Peter 
came  sauntering  out  from  the  stables  — 
Peter  in  his  town  clothes,  freshly  shaven, 
with  a  new  red  necktie  and  a  flower  in 
his  buttonhole.  He  was  coming  toward  the 
kitchen. 

Annie's  lips  trembled  and  she  kicked  the 
dress  spitefully. 

Peter  appeared  in  the  doorway.  He,  too, 
had  been  revolving  projects  for  the  fitting 
celebration  of  the  day,  and  he  wished  tenta 
tively  to  broach  them  to  Annie. 


38        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"What's  up?"  he  inquired,  looking  from 
Annie's  flushed  cheeks  to  Nora's  troubled  eyes. 

Annie  repeated  the  story,  growing  more 
and  more  aggrieved  as  she  dwelt  upon  her 
wrongs.  "An'  never  so  much  as  said  please," 
she  finished. 

"That's  nothin* — ye  mustn't  mind  it, 
Annie.  Miss  Ethel  ain't  used  to  sayin'  please." 
Peter  was  gropingly  endeavouring  to  soothe  her. 
"I  remember  times  when  she  was  a  little  girl 
she  'd  be  so  sassy,  that,  Lor',  me  fingers  was 
itchin'  to  shake  her !  But  I  knowed  she  did  n't 
mean  nothin',  so  I  just  touches  me  hat  an' 
swallows  it.  She 's  used  to  orderin',  Annie, 
an'  ye  must  n't  mind  her." 

"Well,  I  ain't  used  to  takin'  orders  like 
that,  an'  what 's  more,  I  won't !  i  Have  it 
done  by  five  o'clock,'  she  says,  an'  it 's  half 
past  two,  now.  An'  all  them  ruffles!  I  hate 
ruffles,  an'  I  won't  touch  it  after  the  way  she 
talked.  Not  if  she  goes  down  on  her  knees 
to  me,  I  won't." 


THE  RUFFLED  FROCK  39 

"Aw,  Annie,"  remonstrated  Peter,  "what's 
the  use  in  kickin'  up  a  fuss  ?  Miss  Ethel's 
awful  kind  hearted  when  she  thinks  about  it." 

"Kind  hearted!"  Annie  sniffed.  "I  guess 
she  can  afford  to  be  kind  hearted,  havin' 
people  wait  on  her  from  mornin'  to  night  an* 
never  doin'  a  thing  she  does  n't  want  to  do. 
I  wish  she  had  to  iron  once,  an*  she  could  just 
see  how  she  likes  it." 

"  She  gave  you  a  bran'  new  dress  last  week," 
reminded  Nora. 

"Yes,  an'  why?  'Cause  when  I  was  dustm* 
her  room  she  happened  to  be  tryin'  it  on  an* 
it  did  n't  fit,  an'  she  threw  it  down  on  the  floor 
an'  said:  'I  won't  wear  that  thing!  You  can 
have  it,  Annie.' ' 

"The  time  you  burned  your  hand  with  her 
chafing-dish  she  'most  cried  when  she  saw  how 
blistered  it  was,  an'  wrapped  it  up  herself, 
an'  brought  you  some  stuff  in  a  silver  box  to 
put  on  it." 

For  a  moment  Annie  showed  signs  of  relent- 


40        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

ing,  but  as  her  glance  fell  upon  the  dress  again, 
she  hardened.  "She  tipped  the  alcohol  over 
me  herself  an'  she  'd  ought  to  be  sorry.  I  'd 
be  willin'  to  do  her  a  favour,  but  I  won't  be 
ordered  around.  She  just  pokes  it  at  me  as 
if  I  was  an  ironing  machine.  An*  this  the 
Fourth  o'  July,  an'  Mrs.  Carter  tellin*  me  I 
could  go  out.  She  has  enough  dresses  to  last 
from  now  till  she 's  gray,  an'  I  just  won't 
touch  it!" 

"You  won't  touch  what?"  asked  Mrs. 
Carter,  appearing  in  the  doorway.  She 
glanced  from  the  girl's  angry  face  to  the  rumpled 
frock  upon  the  floor.  They  told  their  own 
story.  "What 's  the  meaning  of  this,  Annie  ?" 
she  asked  sharply. 

Annie  looked  sulky.  She  stared  at  the 
floor  a  moment  without  answering,  while 
Peter's  and  Nora's  eyes  anxiously  scanned 
Mrs.  Carter's  face.  Finally  she  replied: 

"You  said  I  could  go  out  this  afternoon, 
ma'am,  an'  just  as  I  was  gettin'  ready,  Miss 


THE  RUFFLED  FROCK  41 

Ethel  came  in  an'  said  I  was  to  wash  that  dress 
before  five  o'clock." 

"I  am  sorry  about  your  afternoon,"  said 
Mrs.  Carter.  "  Miss  Ethel  did  n't  know  about  it, 
but  you  may  go  to-morrow  afternoon  instead." 

"I  was  wantin'  to  go  to-day,"  said  Annie. 
"  I  'm  willin'  enough  to  do  me  own  work,  ma'am, 
but  it  is  n't  me  place  to  wash." 

Mrs.  Carter's  mouth  became  a  straight  line. 

"Annie,  I  never  allow  my  servants  to  dictate 
as  to  what  is  their  work  and  what  is  not.  When 
I  engage  you,  I  expect  you  to  do  whatever  you 
are  asked.  This  is  a  very  easy  place;  you  are 
allowed  to  go  out  a  great  deal,  and  you  have  very 
little  work  to  do.  But  when  something  extra 
comes  up  outside  your  regular  work,  I  expect 
you  to  do  it  willingly  and  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Miss  Ethel  has  been  very  kind  to 
you;  you  can  do  her  a  favour  in  return." 

"  I  would  n't  mind  doin'  it  as  a  favour,  but 
she  just  walks  in  an'  orders  it  as  if  it  was  me 
regular  place  to  wash." 


42        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"And  I  order  it  also,"  said  Mrs.  Carter. 
"You  may  wash  that  dress  and  have  it  done 
by  five  o'clock,  or  else  you  may  pack  your 
trunk  and  go."  She  turned  with  a  firm  tread 
and  walked  out  of  the  room. 

Annie  looked  after  her  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  She  orders  it  too,  does  she  ?  Well,  I  won't 
do  it,  an'  I  won't,  an'  I  wont!"  She  dropped 
down  in  a  chair  at  one  end  of  the  table  and  hid 
her  head  in  her  arms. 

Peter  cast  an  anxious  glance  at  Nora;  he 
did  not  know  how  to  deal  with  Annie's  case. 
Had  she  been  an  obstinate  stable-boy,  he  would 
have  taken  her  out  behind  the  barn  and  thrashed 
reason  into  her  with  a  leather  strap.  He 
awkwardly  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"Aw,  Annie,  wash  the  dress;  there 's  a 
good  girl.  It  won't  take  ye  very  long,  an' 
then  we  '11  go  down  t'  the  beach  to-night  to 
see  the  fireworks.  Miss  Ethel  did  n't  mean 
nothin'.  What's  the  use  o'  makin'  trouble?" 

"  It 's  no  more  my  place  to  wash  than  it  is 


THE  RUFFLED  FROCK  43 

Simpkins's,"  she  sobbed.  "Why  did  n't  she 
ask  him  to  do  it  ?  I  won't  stay  in  a  place  like 
this  where  they  order  you  around  like  a  dog. 
I  '11  pack  me  trunk,  I  will." 

Nora  and  Peter  regarded  each  other  help 
lessly.  They  furtively  sympathized  with  Annie, 
but  they  did  not  dare  to  do  it  openly,  as  sym 
pathy  only  fanned  the  flames,  and  they  both 
knew  that  Mrs.  Carter,  having  pronounced 
her  ultimatum,  would  stand  by  it.  Annie 
must  wash  that  dress  before  five  o'clock,  or 
Annie  must  go.  At  the  thought  of  her  going, 
Peter  fetched  a  deep  sigh,  and  two  frowning 
lines  appeared  on  his  brow.  She  had  been 
there  only  four  weeks,  but  Willowbrook  would 
never  again  be  Willowbrook  without  her. 
Presently  the  silence  was  broken  by  the  sound 
of  generous  footsteps  flapping  across  the  back 
veranda,  and  Ellen,  the  cook  at  Mr.  Jasper's, 
appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"Good  afternoon  to  ye,  Nora,  an'  I  wants 
to  borrow  a  drop  o*  vanilla.  I  ardered  it  two 


44        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

days  ago,  an'  that  fool  of  a  grocer's  b'y 

what's  the  matter  wit'  Annie?"  she  asked, 
her  good-natured  laughing  face  taking  on  a 
look  of  concern  as  she  gazed  at  the  tableau 
before  her. 

Nora  and  Peter  between  them  explained. 
Annie,  meanwhile,  paid  no  attention  to  the 
recital  of  her  wrongs;  only  her  heaving 
shoulders  were  eloquent.  Ellen  hearkened  to 
the  story  with  ready  sympathy. 

"Oh,  it's  a  shame,  it  is,  an'  on  Fort'  o' 
July!  We  all  has  our  troubles  in  this  world." 
She  sighed  heavily  and  winked  at  Peter  and 
Nora  while  she  pushed  them  toward  the  door. 
"  Get  out  wit'  ye,  the  two  of  yez,  an'  lave  her 
to  me,"  she  whispered. 

Ellen  reached  down  and  picked  up  the  dress. 

HT  is  somethin'  awful  the  things  people  will 
be  puttin'  on  ye,  if  ye  give  'em  the  chance. 
T  is  a  shame  to  ask  any  human  bein'  to  wash 
a  dress  like  that  wit'  all  them  ruffles  an'  lace 
fixin's.  I  think  it 's  bad  enough  to  have  to 


THE  RUFFLED  FROCK  45 

wash  Mr.  Harry's  shirts,  but  if  he  took  to  havin' 
lace  set  in  'em,  I  'd  be  leavin'  pretty  quick. 
An'  ye  not  trained  to  laundry  work  either! 
I  don't  see  how  Miss  Ethel  had  the  nerve  to 
ask  it.  She  must  be  awful  over-reachin'. 
She  '11  be  settin'  ye  to  play  the  piano  next  for 
her  to  dance  by." 

Annie  raised  a  tear-stained  face. 

"  I  could  do  it,"  she  said  sulkily.  "  I  can  wash 
as  good  as  Kate;  Miss  Ethel  said  I  could. 
It 's  not  the  work  I  'm  mindin*  if  she  'd  ask 
me  decent.  But  she  just  throws  it  at  me  with 
never  so  much  as  please." 

"I  don't  blame  ye  for  leavin';  I  would,  too." 
Ellen  suddenly  had  an  inspiration,  and  she 
plumped  down  in  a  chair  at  the  opposite  end 
of  the  table.  "I  'm  goin'  to  leave  meself!" 
she  announced.  "I  won't  be  put  upon  either. 
An'  what  do  ye  think  Mr.  Jasper  is  after 
telephonin'  out  this  afternoon  ?  He  's  bringin' 
company  to  dinner  —  three  strange  min  I 
niver  set  eyes  on  before  —  an*  he 's  sint  a 


46        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

fish  home  by  Patrick,  a  blue  fish  he  's  after 
catchin'.  It 's  in  the  ice-box  now  an*  we  're 
to  have  it  for  dinner,  he  says,  an*  I  wit*  me 
dinner  all  planned.  I  don't  mind  havin*  soup, 
an*  roast,  an*  salad,  an'  dessert,  but  I  won't 
have  soup,  an'  fsh,  an'  roast,  an'  salad,  an' 
dessert.  If  there  was  as  many  to  do  the  work 
at  our  house  as  there  is  over  here,  I  would  n't 
say  nothin',  but  wit*  only  me  an'  George  —  an* 
him  not  so  much  as  touchin'  a  thing  but  the 
silver  an*  the  glasses  —  it 's  too  much,  it  is. 
George  'ud  see  me  buried  under  a  mountain 
o*  dishes  before  he  'd  lift  a  finger  to  help." 

Ellen  paused  with  a  pathetic  snivel  while 
she  wiped  her  eyes  on  a  corner  of  her  apron. 
Annie  raised  her  head  and  regarded  her 
sympathetically. 

"Soup,  an*  fish,  an'  roast,  an'  salad,  an* 
dessert,  an'  three  strange  min  into  the  bargain, 
an*  all  the  dishes  to  wash,  an'  the  fish  not  even 
cleaned.  True  it  is  that  troubles  niver  come 
single;  they  're  married  an'  has  children. 


THE  RUFFLED  FROCK  47 

Ivery  siparate  scale  o'  that  blue  fish  did  I  take 
off  wit*  me  own  hands,  an'  not  a  word  o'  thanks 
do  I  get.  I  slaves  for  those  two  min  till  me 
fingers  is  worn  to  the  bone,  an*  not  a  sign 
do  they  give;  but  just  let  the  meat  be  too  done, 
or  the  bottles  not  cold,  an'  then  I  hears  quick 
enough!  'Tis  the  way  wit'  min;  they're  an 
ungrateful  set.  Ye  can  work  an*  work  till 
ye  're  like  to  drop,  an'  they  swallows  it  all  an* 
niver  blinks.  It  ud  be  different  if  there  was 
a  woman  around.  I  've  often  wished  as  Mr. 
Harry  had  a  wife  like  Miss  Ethel,  so  smilin* 
an'  pretty  't  is  a  pleasure  to  watch  her.  Oh, 

an'   I  would  n't   mind   workin'   a   little   extra 

• 

now  an'  then  for  her  —  but  five  courses  an*  no 
one  but  me  to  do  the  dishes !  It 's  goin'  I  am. 
I  '11  give  notice  to-night." 

Ellen  broke  down  and  wept  into  her 
apron  while  Annie  attempted  some  feeble 
consolation. 

"  I  've  worked  there  thirteen  years ! "  Ellen 
sobbed.  "Since  before  Mrs.  Jasper  died,  when 


48        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

Mr.  Harry  was  only  a  b'y.  'T  is  the  only  home 
I  've  got,  an*  I  don't  want  to  leave." 

"Then  what  makes  you?"  Annie  asked. 

"  Because  I  won't  be  put  upon  —  soup,  an' 
fish,  an*  roast,  an'  salad,  an'  dessert  is  too  much 
to  ask  of  any  human  bein'.  The  dishes  won't 
be  done  till  ten  o'clock,  an'  it 's  Fort*  o' 
Ju-l-y-y."  Ellen's  voice  trailed  into  a  wail. 
Her  imagination  was  vivid;  by  this  time  she 
fully  believed  in  her  wrongs.  They  cried  in 
unison  a  few  minutes,  Ellen  murmuring 
brokenly:  "Soup,  an'  fish,  an'  roast,  an'  salad, 
an'  dessert,  an'  it 's  all  the  home  I  've  got. 

"You  don't  have  company  very  often,"  said 
Annie  consolingly. 

"That  we  don't!"  cried  Ellen.  "An'  the 
house  is  so  lonesome  an'  shut  up  't  is  like  a 
tomb  to  live  in.  If  there  was  dancin'  an*  singin* 
an'  laughin*  the  way  there  is  over  here  I  'd  be 
glad  enough.  Wit'  Mr.  Jasper  an'  Mr.  Harry 
so  quiet  an*  frownin'  an  never  sayin'  a  word  — 
Oh,  if  I  had  someone  like  Miss  Ethel  to  do  for 


THE  RUFFLED  FROCK  49 

't  is  willin'  enough  I  'd  be  to  iron  her  dresses. 
That  night  she  had  her  party  an'  I  come  over 
to  help,  an*  you  an'  Pete  was  dancin*  in  the 
kitchen  to  the  music,  an'  after  the  guests  was 
served  we  had  a  table  set  out  on  the  back 
veranda — 'tis  then  I  was  wishin'  I  lived  in  a 
place  like  this.  An'  Miss  Ethel  come  out  when 
we  was  eatin*  an'  asked  was  we  tired  an*  said 
thank  you  for  sittin'  up  so  late,  an'  she  was 
glad  if  we  was  havin'  a  good  time,  too." 

Annie  sighed,  and  her  eyes  wandered  some 
what  guiltily  to  the  dress  on  the  floor. 

"Mrs.  Carter  orders  me  around  just  as  if 
I  was  a  machine,"  she  reiterated,  in  a  tone  of 
self-defence. 

"An'  it's  orderin'  around  ye've  got  to  learn 
to  take  in  this  world,"  said  Ellen.  "  If  ye 
occasionally  get  a  *  thank  ye,'  thrown  in,  ye 
can  think  yourself  lucky  —  it 's  more  'n  I  get. 
I  've  darned  Mr.  Harry's  socks  for  eleven 
years,  an'  never  a  word  o'  notice  does  he  take 
-  I  'm  doubtin'  he  even  knows  they  're  darned. 


5o        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

'T  is  a  thankless  world,  Annie  dear.  Thirteen 
years  I  've  worked  for  the  Jaspers,  an'  on  top 
o'  that  to  ask  me  for  soup,  an*  fish,  an*  roast, 
an'  salad,  an'  dessert  on  a  Fort'  o'  July  night!" 

Ellen  showed  signs  of  breaking  down  again 
and  Annie  hastily  interposed. 

"Don't  cry  about  it,  Ellen;  it 's  too  bad,  it 
is,  but  Mr.  Jasper  likely  did  n't  think  what  a 
lot  o'  trouble  he  was  makin'.  He  ain't  never 
washed  no  dishes  an'  he  don't  know  what  it 's 
like.  I  '11  come  over  an'  help  you  do  them." 

"  But  ye  won't  be  here.  Ye  're  goin'  yerself," 
Ellen  blubbered. 

Annie  was  silent. 

"  Thirteen  years  an'  't  is  the  only  home  I  Ve 
got." 

"Don't  go,  Ellen,"  Annie  begged. 

"Soup,  an'  fish,  an'  roast " 

"I'll  stay  if  you  will!" 

Ellen  heaved  a  final  shuddering  sigh  and 
wiped  her  eyes. 

"Ye  '11  have  to  hurry,  Annie,  if  ye  're  goin' 


THE  RUFFLED  FROCK  51 

to  get  that  dress  done  by  five  o'clock.  Come 
on!"  she  cried,  jumping  to  her  feet.  "I'll 
help  ye.  Ye  take  the  waist  and  I'll  take  the 
skirt,  an'  we  '11  see  which  one  gets  done  first.  It 
just  needs  a  little  rubbin'  out  an'  we  '11  iron  it 
damp." 

Five  minutes  later,  Peter  and  Nora,  who 
had  been  sitting  on  the  back  steps,  waiting 
patiently  for  Ellen's  diplomacy  to  bear  fruit, 
returned  to  the  laundry.  They  found  Ellen 
at  one  tub  and  Annie  at  another  —  up  to  her 
elbows  in  the  soap  suds,  her  cheeks  still  flushed, 
but  a  smile  beginning  to  break  through. 

"Ellen's  helpin'  me,"  she  said  in  rather 
sheepish  explanation. 

"An'  she  's  comin'  over  to  wash  the 
dishes  for  me  to-night,"  Ellen  chimed  in. 
"We're  havin'  soup,  an'  fish,  an'  roast, 
an' •" 

Peter  clapped  his  hand  over  his  mouth  and 
Nora  cast  him  a  warning  look. 

"You  're  goin'  to  the  beach  with  Pete  to  see 


52        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

the  fireworks,  that 's  where  you  're  goin* 
to-night,"  she  said.  "I'll  help  Ellen  with 
her  dishes." 

"Thank  ye,  Nora,"  said  Ellen.  "  'T  is  a 
kind  heart  ye  've  got,  an*  that 's  more  'n  I  can 
say  for  Mr.  Jasper,  for  all  I  've  worked  for 
'im  thirteen  years.  'T  is  soup,  an*  fish,  an* 
roast,  an*  salad,  an'  dessert  the  man's  after 
wantin'  for  dinner  to-night,  an'  no  one  but  me 
to  wash  a  kettle.  If  it  was  n't  for  Annie,  I  'd 
be  leavin',  I  would."  Ellen  wrung  the  skirt 
out  and  splashed  it  up  and  down  in  the  rinsing 
water.  "An'  now  while  this  dress  is  dryin* 
ready  to  iron,  I  '11  just  run  home  an'  stir  up  a 
bit  o'  puddin'  for  dessert,  if  ye  '11  be  lendin'  me 
some  vanilla,  Nora  dear.  That  fool  of  a 
grocery  b'y " 

"Oh,  take  your  vanilla  an*  get  along  wit* 
you !  We  've  had  all  we  wants  o*  your  soup 
an'  your  fish  an*  the  rest  o*  your  fixin's." 

Nora  dived  into  the  pantry  after  the  bottle, 
while  the  attention  of  the  others  was  attracted 


THE  RUFFLED  FROCK  53 

by  a  gay  laugh  outside  the  window.  Annie's 
face  clouded  at  the  sound,  and  they  all 
looked  out. 

Miss  Ethel  was  coming  across  the  lawn  on 
her  way  to  the  bay.  Mr.  Lane,  who  was 
visiting  at  Willowbrook,  strolled  at  her  side, 
dressed  in  white  boating  flannels  with  some 
oars  over  his  shoulder.  A  little  way  behind 
walked  Mr.  Harry,  a  second  pair  of  oars  over 
his  shoulder,  and  his  eyes  somewhat  surlily 
bent  on  the  ground.  Miss  Ethel,  pretty  and 
smiling  in  her  light  summer  gown,  was  talking 
vivaciously  to  Mr.  Lane,  apparently  having 
forgotten  that  Mr.  Harry  existed. 

"  I  'd  show  her  pretty  quick  if  I  was  Mr. 
Harry!"  Ellen  muttered  vindictively. 

Miss  Ethel  paused  and  shaded  her  eyes  with 
her  hand. 

"It 's  awfully  sunny!"  she  complained.  "I  'm 
afraid  I  want  a  hat."  She  glanced  back  over 
her  shoulder.  "Harry,"  she  called,  "run  back 
and  get  my  hat.  I  think  I  left  it  on  the  front 


54        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

veranda,  or  maybe  at  the  tennis-court.  We  '11 
wait  for  you  at  the  landing." 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Harry  looked  black  at 
this  peremptory  dismissal;  but  he  bowed 
politely,  and  whirling  about  strode  back  to 
the  house  while  Miss  Ethel  and  Mr.  Lane 
went  on  laughing  down  the  hill. 

"An*  she  never  so  much  as  said  please!" 
whispered  Annie. 

"I  '11  be  darned  if  I  'd  do  it,"  said  Peter. 


Ill 

THEIR    INNOCENT    DIVERSIONS 

WE  GOT  three  kids  visitin'  to  our  house, 
and  there  won't  be  nothin*  left  o*  Wil- 
lowbrook  by  the  time  they  goes  away.       Hold 
up,  Trixy!    What  are  ye  tryin*  to  do?" 

Peter  paused  to  hook  the  line  out  from  under 
Trixy's  tail,  and  then  re-cocking  his  hat  at  a 
comfortable  angle  and  crossing  his  legs,  he 
settled  himself  for  conversation.  Peter  loved 
to  talk  and  he  loved  an  audience;  he  was 
essentially  a  social  animal.  His  listeners  were 
two  brother  coachmen  and  a  bandy-legged 
young  groom,  who  were  waiting,  like  himself, 
for  "ladies'  morning"  to  draw  to  its  usual 
placid  termination  —  sandwiches  and  lemonade 
on  the  club  veranda  after  a  not  too  heated 
putting  contest  on  the  first  green. 

57 


58        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"Yes,  we  got  three  visitin*  kids;  with  Master 
Bobby  it  makes  four,  and  I  ain't  drawed  an 
easy  breath  since  the  mornin*  they  arrived. 
They  keep  up  such  an  everlastin'  racket  that 
the  people  in  the  house  can't  stand  them, 
an*  we  've  had  them  in  the  stables  most  o'  the 
time.  Mrs.  Brainard,  that 's  their  mother,  is 
Mr.  Carter's  sister,  and  I  can  tell  ye  she  makes 
herself  to  home. 

"  That 's  her  over  there  with  the  lavender 
dress  and  the  parasol"  —  he  jerked  his  head 
in  the  direction  of  a  gaily  dressed  group  of 
ladies  trailing  across  the  links  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  first  green.  "She's  mournin'  for 
her  husband  —  light  mournin',  that  is;  he  's 
dead  two  years." 

"She  picked  me  the  first  day  to  look  after 
the  la-ads.  'Peter,'  she  says,  'me  dear  boys 
are  cr-razy  to  play  in  the  stables,  but  I  can't 
help  worryin'  for  fear  they  '11  get  under  the 
horses'  feet.  I  have  perfect  confidence  in  you,' 
she  says,  'and  I  '11  put  them  under  yer  special 


THEIR  INNOCENT  DIVERSIONS    59 

care.  Just  keep  yer  eye  on  the  la-ads  an*  see 
that  they  don't  get  hur-rt.' 

"  *  Thank  ye,  ma'am,'  says  I,  flattered  by 
the  attention,  *I  '11  do  the  best  I  can.'  I 
had  n't  made  the  acquaintance  o'  the  little 
darlin's  yet,  or  I  would  'a*  chucked  me  job  on 
the  spot. 

"  Master  Augustus  —  he  's  the  youngest  — 
has  gold  curls  an'  blue  eyes  and  a  smile  as 
innocint  as  honey.  He  's  the  kind  the  ladies 
stops  an'  kisses,  and  asks,  '  Whose  little  boy  is 
you  ?•'  At  the  first  glance  ye  'd  think  to  see  a 
couple  o'  wings  sproutin'  out  behind,  but  when 
ye  knowed  him  intimately,  ye  'd  look  for  the 
horns  an'  tail.  I  've  pulled  that  little  divvil 
three  times  out  o'  the  duck  pond,  and  I  've 
fished  him  out  from  the  grain  chute  with  a 
boat  hook.  I  could  n't  tell  ye  the  number 
o'  trees  he  's  climbed  after  birds'  eggs  and  got 
stuck  in  the  top  of;  we  keeps  a  groom  an* 
ladder  on  tap,  so  to  speak.  One  afternoon  I 
caught  the  four  o'  them  smokin'  cigarettes 


60        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

made  o'  dried  corn  silk  up  in  the  hay  loft  as 
comfortable  as  ye  please — 'tis  many  a  stable- 
boy  as  has  been  bounced  for  less.  Between 
them  they  finished  up  the  dope  the  vet'rinary 
surgeon  left  when  Blue  Gipsy  had  the  heaves, 
thinkin*  it  was  whisky  —  an*  serves  them 
right,  I  say.  I  did  n't  tell  on  'em,  though,  when 
the  doctor  asked  what  I  thought  the  trouble 
was;  I  said  I  guessed  it  was  green  apples. 

"  But  them  's  only  the  minor  divarsions  that 
occupy  their  leisure;  they  're  nothin'  to  the 
things  they  think  of  when  they  really  get  down 
to  business.  The  first  thing  they  done  was 
to  pretend  the  victoria  was  a  pirate  ship;  an' 
they  scratched  the  paint  all  up  a-tryin'  to  board 
her.  Joe  turned  'em  out  o*  doors  to  play, 
an*  they  dug  up  the  whole  o'  the  strawberry 
bed  huntin'  for  hidden  treasure.  Their  next 
move  was  to  take  off  their  shoes  an'  stockin's, 
turn  their  clothes  wrong  side  out,  an*  dirty  up 
their  faces  with  huckleberry  juice  —  ye  would 
have  sworn  they  was  a  lot  o'  jabberin*  Dagoes. 


THEIR  INNOCENT  DIVERSIONS    61 

They  went  beggin'  in  all  the  houses  o'  the 
neighbourhood,  includin'  Willowbrook,  an* 
Nora  never  knew  them  an'  give  them  some  cold 
potatoes. 

"One  day  last  week  they  nearly  broke  their 
blame  young  necks  slidin'  down  the  waggon- 
shed  roof  on  a  greased  tea-tray.  There 's 
a  pile  o'  straw  at  the  bottom  that  kind  of 
acted  as  a  buffer,  but  Master  Augustus  did  n't 
steer  straight  an'  went  over  the  edge.  'T  was 
only  a  drop  o'  four  feet,  but  he  come  up  lookin* 
damaged. 

"That  ain't  the  worst  though.  Last  Sunday 
afternoon  they  frightened  the  cow  into  hysterics 
playin'  she  was  a  bull,  an'  they  was  matydoors 
or  torydoors,  or  whatever  ye  call  them.  They 
stuck  pins  into  her  with  paper  windmills  on  the 
end,  and  she  ain't  give  more  'n  six  quarts  at  any 
milkin'  since.  I  was  mad,  I  was,  an'  I  marched 
'em  to  the  house  an*  tole  their  mother. 

"  'It  grieves  me/  she  says,  'to  think  that 
me  boys  should  be  so  troublesome;  but  they 


62        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

did  n't  mean  to  be  cruel  to  the  poor  dumb 
brute.  They  're  spirited  la-ads,'  she  says, 
'an'  their  imaginations  run  away  wid  them. 
What  they  needs  is  intilligent  direction.  Ye 
should  try,'  she  says,  'to  enter  into  the  spirit 
o'  their  innocint  divarsions;  an'  when  ye  see 
them  doin'  somethin'  dangerous,  gintly  turn 
their  thoughts  into  another  channel.  Their 
grattytood,'  she  says,  'will  pay  ye  for  yer 
trouble.' 

"  'Wery  well,  ma'am,'  says  I,  not  too  enthu 
siastic,  T  '11  do  the  best  I  can,'  and  I  bows  meself 
out.  I  've  been  superintendin'  their  innocint 
divarsions  ever  since,  and  if  there  's  any  one 
as  wants  the  job,  I  '11  turn  it  over  to  him  quick." 

Peter  paused  to  back  his  horses  farther  into 
the  shade;  then  having  climbed  down  and 
taken  a  drink  at  a  near-by  hydrant,  he  resumed 
his  seat  and  the  conversation. 

"  But  ye  should  have  seen  them  this  mornin* 
when  I  drove  off!  They  was  a  sight  if  there 
ever  was  one.  Joe  's  away  with  Mr.  Gaiter 


THEIR  INNOCENT  DIVERSIONS    63 

and  I  'm  takin'  charge  for  the  day.  When  I 
went  into  the  carriage-house  to  give  Billy 
orders  about  hitchin'  up,  what  should  I  find 
but  them  precious  little  lambkins  gambolin' 
around  in  stri-ped  bathin'  trunks,  an*  not 
another  stitch.  They  was  further  engaged 
in  paintin'  their  skins  where  the  trunks  left 
off  —  an*  that  was  the  most  o'  them  —  with  a 
copper  colour  foundation  and  a  trimmin'  o* 
black  stripes. 

"'Holy  Saint  Patrick!'  says  I.  'What  the 
divvil  are  ye  up  to  now  ?' 

"'Whoop!'  says  Master  Bobby.  'We'll 
scalp  ye  and  eat  yer  heart.  We  're  Comanche 
braves,'  he  says,  '  an'  we  're  gettin'  ready  for 
the  war-path.' 

"  'Ye  look  more  like  zebras,'  says  I,  'escaped 
from  a  menagerie.' 

"  'Wait  till  we  get  our  feathers  on,'  he  says, 
'an'  Pete,'  he  adds,  'will  you  do  me  back  ? 
There 's  a  place  in  the  middle  that  I  can't 
reach/ 


64        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

4'Wid  that  he  turns  a  pink  an*  white  surface 
a  yawnin*  for  decoration,  an'  presses  a  can  o' 
axle  grease  in  me  hands.  And  I  '11  be  darned 
if  them  young  imps  had  n't  covered  their  skins 
with  axle  grease  and  red  brass  polish,  an'  for 
variety,  a  touch  o'  bluing  they  'd  got  off  Nora 
in  the  kitchen.  An'  they  smelt  —  Gee!  they 
smelt  like  a  triple  extract  harness  shop.  I  tole 
them  I  thought  they  'd  be  havin'  trouble  when 
they  was  ready  to  return  to  the  haunts  o'  the 
pale-face;  but  Master  Bobby  said  their  clothes 
would  cover  it  up. 

"I  done  the  job.  I  don't  set  up  to  be  a 
mural  artist,  and  I  ain't  braggin',  but  I  will 
say  as  Master  Bobby's  back  beat  any  sign 
board  ye  ever  see  when  I  finished  the  decora- 
tin'.  I  fastened  some  chicken  feathers  in  their 
hair,  and  I  hunted  out  some  tomahawks  in 
the  lumber  room,  an*  they  let  out  a  war-whoop 
that  raised  the  roof,  an'  scalped  me  out  o' 
grattytood. 

"  'Now  see  here,'  says  I  to  Master  Bobby, 


THEIR  INNOCENT  DIVERSIONS    65 

'in  return  for  helpin'  along  yer  innocint  amuse 
ments,  will  ye  promise  to  do  yer  scalpin'  in 
the  paddock,  an*  not  come  near  the  stables  ? 
'Cause  me  floor  is  clean,'  I  says,  'and  I  don't 
want  no  blood  spattered  on  it.  'Tis  hard  to 
wash  up,'  I  says.  I  was,  ye  '11  observe,  gintly 
turnin*  their  thoughts  into  another  channel, 
like  their  mother  recommended.  An'  they 
promised  sweet  as  cherubs.  She  was  right; 
they  're  spirited  la-ads,  an'  they  won't  be 
driven.  'T  is  best  to  use  diplomacy. 

"I  left  them  crawlin'  on  all  fours  through 
the  bushes  by  the  duck  pond,  shootin*  arrers 
in  the  air  as  innocint  as  ye  please.  I  dunno, 
though,  how  long  't  will  last.  I  tole  Billy  to 
keep  an  eye  on  them,  and  I  s'pose  when  I  get 
back,  I  '11  find  his  head  decoratin'  the  hitchin'- 
post  an*  his  hair  danglin'  from  their  belts." 

A  movement  of  farewell  on  the  club  veranda 
brought  the  men  back  to  their  official  selves. 
Peter  straightened  his  hat,  stiffened  his  back, 
and  gathered  up  the  reins. 


66         MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"So  long,  Mike,"  he  remarked  as  he  backed 
into  the  driveway.  "  I  '11  see  ye  to-morrow  at 
the  Daughters  o'  the  Revolution;  and  if  ye  hear 
of  anyone,"  he  added,  "as  is  wantin'  a  com 
bination  coachman  an'  first  class  nursemaid, 
give  them  my  address.  I  'm  lookin'  for  an 
easier  place." 

"Peter,"  said  Mrs.  Carter,  as  they  trotted 
out  of  the  club-house  gateway  and  swung 
on  to  the  smooth  macadam  of  the  homeward 
road,  "I  meant  to  ask  you  what  the  children 
were  doing  this  morning.  Have  they  been 
tomusing  themselves  ?" 

"Yes,  they've  been  amusin'  themselves. 
They  was  playin'  Indian,  ma'am,  with  chicken 
feathers  in  their  heads."  He  wisely  sup 
pressed  the  remainder  of  the  costume.  "I 
found  them  some  tomahawks  in  the  lumber 
room,  an'  the  last  I  see  o'  them  they  was  in  the 
paddock  scalpin'  each  other  as  happy  as  ye 
please." 

"Those    delicious    boys!"    murmured    their 


THEIR  INNOCENT  DIVERSIONS    67 

mother,  "I  never  know  what  they  will  think 
of  next.  It  is  such  a  relief  to  get  them  into 
the  country,  where  they  can  have  plenty  of 
room  to  play  and  I  can  be  sure  they  are  not  in 
mischief.  They  are  so  exuberant,  that  when 
we  are  stopping  in  a  summer  hotel  I  am 
always  uneasy  for  fear  they  may  disturb  the 
guests." 

The  carriage  had  turned  into  the  Willow- 
brook  grounds,  and  was  decorously  rolling 
along  between  the  smooth  green  lawns  bordered 
by  coloured  foliage,  the  two  ladies  reclining 
against  the  cushions  in  placid  contemplation  of 
the  summer  noonday,  when  suddenly  an  ebulli 
tion  of  shouting  and  crying  burst  out  across  the 
shrubbery  in  the  direction  of  the  stables.  It 
was  not  the  mere  joyous  effervescence  of 
animal  spirits  that  had  been  gladdening  Willow- 
brook  for  the  past  two  weeks.  There  was  an 
unmistakable  note  of  alarm,  a  hoarser  under 
tone,  as  of  men  joining  in  the  tocsin.  Peter 
pulled  the  horses  sharply  to  their  haunches 


68        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

and  cocked  his  head  to  listen,  while  the  ladies 
leaned  forward  in  a  flutter  of  dismay. 

"Something  has  happened  to  my  precious 
boys!  Drive  on  quick,  Peter,"  Mrs.  Brainard 
gasped. 

Peter  used  his  whip  and  they  approached 
the  house  at  a  gallop.  The  trouble  was 
evident  by  now.  Heavy  clouds  of  smoke 
were  curling  up  from  among  the  willow  trees 
while  the  cry  of  "Fire!  Fire!"  filled  the  air. 

"Thank  heaven  it  ain't  the  stables!"  ejacu 
lated  Peter,  as  his  eye  anxiously  studied  the 
direction.  'T  is  the  waggon-shed  —  an*  the 
buckboard  's  in  it  an'  all  the  farmin'  tools." 

People  were  running  from  every  side.  Two 
men  from  Jasper  Place  came  puffing  through 
the  hole  in  the  hedge,  dragging  a  garden  hose 
behind  them,  while  the  house  servants,  bare 
headed  and  excited,  swarmed  out  from  the 
back  veranda. 

"Annie!  Annie!"  called  Mrs.  Carter  as  the 
panting  horses  were  dragged  to  a  standstill, 


THEIR  INNOCENT  DIVERSIONS    69 

"turn  on  the  fire  alarm.  Go  to  the  telephone 
and  call  the  engine  house." 

"Simpkins  has  done  it,  ma'am,"  called 
Annie  over  her  shoulder,  as  she  hurried  on. 
"Ow!  What's  that?"  she  added  with  a 
scream  of  astonished  terror,  as  a  red  and 
black  striped  figure,  with  a  row  of  ragged 
feathers  waving  in  a  fringe  about  its  ears, 
burst  from  the  shrubbery  and  butted  plump 
against  her. 

"Bobby!"  gasped  his  mother,  as  after  a 
moment  of  shocked  hesitation  she  recognized 
her  son.  Bobby  waved  his  arms  and  set  up 
a  howl.  An  expression  of  terror  was  plainly 
visible  struggling  through  the  war-paint. 

"Pete,  Billy,  Patrick!  Quick!  Quick!  We 
can't  untie  him  and  he  's  burning!  We  did  n't 
mean  to  burn  him,"  he  added  quickly.  "  It 's 
an  accident." 

"Burn  what?"  cried  Mrs.  Carter. 

"Augustus,"  Bobby  sobbed. 

And  to  the  horror-stricken  group  was  borne 


70        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

a  shrill  falsetto  wail:  "Help!  H-e-l-p! 
They're  burning  me  at  the  s-t-a-k-e!"  —  a 
wail  apparently  of  mortal  anguish,  though  an 
unexcited  listener  would  have  detected  in  the 
tones  more  of  anger  than  of  pain. 

Mrs.  Brainard,  with  a  frenzied  shriek, 
threw  away  her  lavender  parasol  and  dashed 
in  the  direction  of  the  sounds.  Peter  jumped 
from  the  box  and  overtook  her.  He  was 
first  upon  the  spot.  The  waggon-shed  roof 
was  a  blazing  mass;  the  straw  pile  beneath  it 
was  sending  up  a  stifling  cloud  of  blue  smoke, 
and  the  dry  surrounding  grass  was  crackling 
in  a  swiftly  widening  circle.  But  in  the  centre 
of  the  conflagration  there  still  remained  a 
little  oasis  of  green,  where  a  young  willow 
sapling  rose  defiantly  from  the  flames.  And 
as  the  smoke  blew  momentarily  to  one  side, 
the  writhing  figure  of  Augustus  came  to  view 
lashed  firmly  to  the  tree  trunk,  his  hands  above 
his  head.  With  the  arrival  of  spectators  he 
finished  struggling  and  assumed  an  expression 


THEIR  INNOCENT  DIVERSIONS    71 

of  stoicism  that  would  have  done  credit  to  a 
true  Comanche. 

"  My  boy!  My  boy!"  shrieked  Mrs.  Brainard, 
running  forward  with  outstretched  arms,  as 
the  smoke  again  closed  around  him. 

Peter  caught  her.  "Stand  back,  ma'am. 
For  heaven's  sake,  stand  back!  Ye '11  ketch 
yer  dress.  He  ain't  hurt  none;  the  fire  ain't 
reached  him.  I  '11  save  him,"  and  whipping 
out  his  knife,  Peter  dashed  into  the  smoke. 
He  returned  three  minutes  later,  a  mass  of 
stripes  and  mingled  grease  kicking  in  his 
arms. 

Mrs.  Brainard,  who  had  closed  her  eyes 
preparing  to  faint,  opened  them  again  and 
looked  at  Augustus.  He  was  a  muddy  copper 
colour  with  here  and  there  a  vivid  touch  of  blue, 
and  he  exuded  a  peculiarly  blent  odour  of  brass 
polish  and  smoke. 

"Is  —  is  he  dead?"  she  gasped. 

"  He 's  quite  lively,  ma'am,"  said  Peter, 
grimly  struggling  to  hold  him. 


72        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

She  opened  her  arms  with  a  sob  of  relief, 
and  received  the  boy,  grease  and  smoke  and 
all;  while  the  three  remaining  braves  modestly 
tried  to  efface  themselves. 

"Robert,"  said  Mrs.  Carter,  laying  a  detain 
ing  hand  on  her  son's  tri-coloured  shoulder, 
"what  is  the  meaning  of  this  outrageous  affair  ?" 

Bobby  dug  his  eyes  with  his  greasy  fists  and 
whimpered. 

"We  just  tied  him  to  the  stake  and  pretended 
to  burn  him.  And  then  we  sat  down  to  smoke 
a  pipe  of  peace,  and  I  guess  maybe  the  straw 
caught  fire." 

"It  did  —  apparently,"  said  his  mother; 
her  tone  carried  a  suggestion  of  worse  to  come. 

Peter,  having  hastily  organized  a  fire  brigade, 
succeeded  in  saving  the  buckboard  and  a  few 
of  the  farming  tools,  but  the  building  itself 
was  beyond  salvation.  The  wood  was  dry 
and  thoroughly  seasoned,  and  the  feeble  stream 
of  water  from  the  garden  hose  served  to  increase 
the  smoke  rather  than  to  lessen  the  flames. 


THEIR  INNOCENT  DIVERSIONS    73 

The  men  finally  fell  back  in  a  panting  circle 
and  watched  it  burn. 

"Gee!"  ejaculated  Peter,  "I'm  glad  it  was  the 
waggon-shed.  It  might  have  been  the  stables." 

"Or  the  house,"  added  Mrs.  Carter. 

"Or  Augustus!"  breathed  Mrs.  Brainard. 

The  roof  fell  in  with  a  crash,  and  the  flames 
leaped  up  to  surround  it.  A  mild  cheer  broke 
from  the  spectators;  since  there  was  nothing 
more  to  be  done,  they  might  as  well  enjoy  the 
bonfire.  The  cheer  was  echoed  by  an  answer 
ing  shout  at  the  end  of  the  avenue,  and  a 
moment  later  the  Sea  Garth  volunteer  hook 
and  ladder  company  dashed  into  sight,  drawn 
by  two  foam-covered  horses,  the  firemen  still 
struggling  into  belated  uniforms. 

They  came  to  a  stand;  half  a  dozen  men 
tore  off  the  nearest  ladder  and  dragged  it  to 
the  burning  building.  There,  they  hesitated 
dubiously.  It  was  clearly  an  impossible  feat 
to  lean  a  thirty-foot  ladder  against  a  one- 
story  waggon-shed  whose  roof  had  fallen  in. 


74        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

Their  chief,  an  impressive  figure  in  a  scarlet 
shirt  and  a  rubber  helmet,  advanced  to  take 
command.  He  grasped  the  painful  situation, 
and  for  a  moment  he  looked  dashed.  The 
next  moment,  however,  he  had  regained  his 
poise,  and  announced,  in  a  tone  of  triumph; 
"We'll  save  the  stables!" 

Mrs.  Carter  stepped  forward  with  a  voice 
of  protest. 

"Oh,  no,  I  beg  of  you!  It  isn't  necessary. 
The  sparks  are  flying  in  the  other  direction. 
My  own  men  have  fortunately  been  able  to 
cope  with  the  fire,  and  while  I  am  very  much 
obliged  for  your  trouble,  there  is  no  necessity  for 
further  aid." 

"Madam,"  said  the  chief,  "the  wind  is 
likely  to  change  at  any  moment,  and  a  single 
spark  falling  on  that  shingle  roof  would  sweep 
away  every  building  on  the  place.  I  am  sorry 
to  be  disobliging,  but  it  is  my  duty  to  protect 
your  property."  He  waved  her  aside  and 
issued  his  orders.  For  the  first  time  in  her 


THEIR  INNOCENT  DIVERSIONS    75 

life  Mrs.  Carter  found  that  she  was  not  master 
on  her  own  place. 

Five  minutes  later  half  a  dozen  ladders 
were  resting  against  the  main  edifice  of  the 
stables,  while  the  bucket  brigade  was  happily 
splashing  the  contents  of  the  duck  pond  over 
the  shingle  roof. 

This  precautionary  measure  was  barely  under 
way,  when  a  second  shouting  and  clanging  of 
bells  announced  the  approach  of  the  Sea  Garth 
Volunteer  Hose  Company  No.  I.  They  did  not 
possess  horses  and  their  progress  had  of  necessity 
been  slower.  Accompanied  by  an  excited  escort 
of  barefooted  boys,  they  swept  like  a  tidal  wave 
across  shaven  lawns  and  flowered  borders. 

"Keep  them  back!  Keep  them  back!*' 
wailed  Mrs.  Carter,  in  a  sudden  access  of  help 
lessness.  "Peter,  William,  stop  them!  Thank 
them  and  send  them  home."  She  accosted 
the  hookrand  ladder  chief.  "Tell  them  it  *s 
all  over.  Tell  them  that  you  yourself  have 
already  done  everything  that 's  necessary." 


76        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"Sorry,  Mrs.  Carter,  but  it  's  impossible. 
There  has  n't  been  a  fire  in  this  town  for  the 
last  three  months,  and  then  it  was  only  a  false 
alarm.  They  're  sore  enough  as  it  is  because 
we  got  here  first.  A  little  water  won't  hurt 
anything;  we  're  in  need  of  rain.  You  go  in 
the  house,  Mrs.  Carter,  and  trust  to  me.  I  won't 
let  them  do  any  more  damage  than  necessary." 

The  hose  company  bore  down  upon  the 
scene  of  confusion  that  surrounded  the  wrecked 
waggon-shed  with  an  air  of  pleased  expectancy. 
Their  faces  fell  as  they  caught  sight  of  the 
pitiable  size  of  the  fire;  but  the  new  chief,  with 
quickly  reviving  cheerfulness,  usurped  dictator 
ship,  and  soon  had  a  generous  stream  of  water 
playing  upon  the  embers. 

Mrs.  Carter,  with  a  last  plaintive  appeal  to 
Peter  to  get  rid  of  them,  resumed  her  natural 
aloofness;  and  she  and  Mrs.  Brainard  trailed 
their  smoke-grimed  splendour  toward  the  house, 
driving  the  vanquished  braves  before  them. 

When,  finally,  the  last  spark  was  irretrievably 


THEIR  INNOCENT  DIVERSIONS    77 

dead,  the  duck  pond  was  nearly  dry  and  every 
thing  else  was  wet,  the  firemen  reloaded  their 
ladders  and  hose,  their  buckets  and  rubber 
helmets,  and  noisily  trundled  away.  The 
Willowbrook  contingent  sat  down  and  mopped 
their  grimy  brows. 

"  Will  you  look  at  my  flower-beds  ?"  mourned 
Tom.  "Walked  right  over  'em,  they  did." 

"  An*  will  ye  look  at  the  clothes  on  the  line  ?" 
cried  Nora.  "They  walked  slap  through  them 
wid  their  dir-rty  hands." 

"Go  and  look  at  the  carriage-house  floor," 
Peter  growled.  "They  turned  a  three-inch 
stream  o'  water  in  at  the  front  door;  it  looks 
as  if  the  flood  o'  Arrerat  had  struck  us.  If  I 
ever  ketch  that  lobster  of  a  fire  chief  out  alone, 
I  '11  teach  'im  'is  dooty,  I  will."  He  paused 
to  examine  his  person.  "Gee!  but  I  blistered 
me  hands."  He  carried  the  examination  fur 
ther.  "An'  these  is  me  best  pants,"  he  mut 
tered.  "The  next  time  I  helps  along  their 
innocint  divarsions,  I  '11  get  me  life  insured." 


DIGNITY  AND  THE  ELEPHANT 


IV 

DIGNITY  AND   THE    ELEPHANT 

COME  in!" 
Peter  opened  the  library  door  and 
advanced  with  awkward  hesitation.  Behind  his 
respectfully  blank  expression  there  was  visible  a 
touch  of  anxiety;  he  was  not  clear  in  his  own 
mind  as  to  the  reason  for  this  peremptory  sum 
mons  to  the  house.  It  might  mean  that  he  was  to 
be  rewarded  for  having  saved  Master  Augus 
tus's  life  and  the  contents  of  the  waggon-shed; 
it  might  mean  that  he  was  to  be  censured  for  any 
one  of  a  dozen  innocent  and  unpremeditated 
faults.  But  Mr.  Carter's  expression  as  he 
turned  from  the  writing  table  banished  all 
doubt  as  to  the  meaning  of  the  interview. 
His  bearing  contained  no  suggestion  of  honour 
able  mention  to  come. 

81 


82         MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"Close  the  door,"  he  said  dryly. 

Peter  closed  the  door  and  stood  at  attention, 
grasping  with  nervous  fingers  the  brim  of  his 
hat.  Mr.  Carter  allowed  a  painful  silence 
to  follow  while  he  sat  frowning  down  at  a  news 
paper  spread  on  the  table  before  him.  Peter, 
having  studied  his  master's  face,  lowered  his 
troubled  eyes  to  the  headlines  of  the  paper: 

COMANCHE  BRAVES  ON  THE  WAR  PATH 

FIRE    THREATENS     DESTRUCTION 
TO    JEROME    B.  CARTER'S    ESTATE 

"This  has  been  a  very  shocking  affair," 
Mr.  Carter  began,  in  a  tone  of  impressive  em 
phasis.  "The  damage,  fortunately,  was  slight, 
but  the  principle  remains  the  same  as  if  every 
building  on  the  place  had  burned.  The  blame 
on  the  surface  rests  with  the  boys  who  started 
the  fire;  and,"  he  added,  with  a  touch  of 
grimness,  "they  have  been  fittingly  punished. 
But  I  find,  upon  looking  into  the  matter,  that 
the  blame  does  not  stop  with  them.  I  have 


DIGNITY  AND  THE  ELEPHANT     83 

here  a  copy  of  a  New  York  evening  paper  of 
an  —  uh  —  sensational  order,  giving  a  grossly 
exaggerated  account  of  the  incident.  There  is 
one  particular,  however,  in  regard  to  which 
they  do  not  exaggerate  —  exaggeration  being 
impossible  —  and  that  is  in  their  description  of 
the  outrageous  apparel  which  my  son  and  my 
nephews  were  wearing  at  the  time/' 

Mr.  Carter  adjusted  his  glasses  and  picked 
up  the  paper,  his  frown  darkening  as  he  glanced 
rapidly  down  the  column.  A  facetious  young 
reporter  had  made  the  best  of  a  good  story. 
'Volunteer  firemen  —  Gallant  behaviour  of 
Chief  McDougal  -  Threatened  tragedy  — 
H'm  —  His  eye  lighted  on  the  offending 

paragraph,  and  he  settled  himself  to  read. 

"Conspicuous  among  those  present  were 
the  authors  of  the  conflagration,  Master  Robert 
Carter,  twelve-year-old  son  of  Jerome  B.  Carter, 
and  his  three  cousins,  sons  of  John  D.  Brainard, 
of  Philadelphia.  Whatever  may  be  said  of 
Philadelphians  in  general,  there  is  nothing 


84        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

slow  about  the  Brainard  boys.  In  the  char 
acter  of  Comanche  braves  the  four  were 
clothed  in  simple  but  effective  costumes  of 
black  and  red  war-paint.  The  paint,  we  are 
informed,  was  composed  of  axle  grease  and 
brass  polish,  and  had  been  artistically  laid  on 
by  one  Peter  Malone,  who  occupies  the  posi 
tion  of  head  groom  in  the  Carter  stables. 
Young  Malone  has  missed  his  calling.  His 
talents  point  to  the  field  of  decorative  art." 

A  fleeting  grin  swept  over  Peter's  face.  It 
struck  him,  for  the  hundredth  time,  that  there 
was  a  singular  absence  of  a  sense  of  humour  in 
the  Carter  family.  But  he  quickly  recomposed 
his  features.  Mr.  Carter  had  laid  the  paper 
down  again,  and  was  waiting.  Peter  glanced 
dubiously  about  the  room,  and  finally  ven 
tured  in  a  tone  of  conciliation: 

"It  weren't  so  shockin'  as  the  paper  made 
out,  sir.  They  was  wearin'  stri-ped  bathin* 
trunks  and  a  row  o*  chicken  feathers  in  addi 
tion  to  the  grease." 


DIGNITY  AND  THE  ELEPHANT    85 

Mr.  Carter  waved  the  remark  aside  as 
irrelevant. 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  point. 
The  question  which  I  am  discussing  is  the 
fact  that  you  painted  my  son  with  axle  grease. 
I  am  not  only  shocked,  but  astonished.  I 
have  always  entertained  the  highest  opinion 
of  your  sense  of  propriety  and  fitness.  I  should 
have  believed  this  story  a  pure  fabrication  on 
the  part  of  an  unprincipled  reporter,  had  I  not 
heard  it  corroborated  from  Master  Bobby's 
own  lips.  Before  passing  judgment  it  is  only 
right  that  I  hear  your  version  of  the  affair. 
What  have  you  to  say  ?" 

Peter  shifted  his  weight  uneasily.  An  in 
vitation  to  tell  a  story  rarely  found  him  want 
ing,  but  he  liked  to  feel  that  his  audience  was 
with  him,  and  in  the  present  instance  Mr. 
Carter's  manner  was  not  surcharged  with  sym 
pathy. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  began,  with  an  apologetic 
cough,  "  If  ye  '11  excuse  me  mentionin*  it, 


86        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

them  three  Brainard  boys  is  young  limbs 
o'  Satan,  every  one  o'  them.  Their  badness, 
so  to  speak,  is  catchin',  an*  Master  Bobby  *s 
got  it.  'T  is  demoralizing  sir,  to  have  them 
about;  Fm  losin*  me  own  sense  o'  right  an* 
wrong." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Carter,  impatiently, 
"what  I  want  to  hear  about  is  this  Indian 
business." 

"Yes,  sir,  I'm  comin'  to  it,  sir.  Yesterday 
mornin*  I  got  an  order  early  to  drive  Mrs. 
Carter  to  the  country  club,  an'  when  I  went 
into  the  carriage-house  to  see  about  hitchin* 
up,  what  should  I  find  but  them  four  little 
div " 

Peter  caught  Mr.  Carter's  eye,  and  hastily 
altered  his  sentence. 

"I  found  the  four  young  gentlemen,  sir, 
dressed  in  stri-ped  bathin'  trunks,  engaged 
in  paintin'  their  skins  with  axle  grease  ready 
for  the  war-path.  They  'd  got  two  cans  on 
before  I  seen  'em,  and  all  I  done  was  Master 


DIGNITY  AND  THE  ELEPHANT    87 

Bobby's  back  an*  Master  Wallace's  legs. 
I  mistrusted  it  would  n't  come  off,  sir,  and  I 
told  'em  as  much;  but  they  was  already  so 
nearly  covered  that  it  seemed  a  pity  to  spoil 
the  sport.  Ye  see,  I  was  mindin'  what  their 
mother  said  about  takin'  a  sympathetic  inter 
est  in  their  innocint  divarsions." 

"And  this  struck  you  as  an  innocent  diver 
sion  ?" 

"Comparatively  speakin',  sir.  None  o*  their 
divarsions  strikes  me  as  fittin*  for  a  Sunday- 
school." 

"Go  on,"  said  Mr.  Carter,  sharply. 

Peter  fumbled  with  his  hat.  He  was  find 
ing  his  employer's  mood  a  trifle  difficult. 

"  It  were  n't  my  fault  about  the  fire,  sir. 
When  I  drove  off  they  was  playin'  in  the  pad 
dock  as  innocint  as  ye  please.  How  should 
I  know  that  as  soon  as  me  back  was  turned 
they  'd  be  takin'  it  into  their  heads  to  burn 
Master  Augustus  at  the  stake  ?  It  ain't  no 
ordinary  intilligence,  sir,  that  can  keep  up  wid 


88        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

them.  And  as  for  the  damage,  there  would  n't 
'a*  been  none,  aside  from  losin'  the  waggon-shed, 
if  it  were  n't  for  that  meddlin'  fire  department. 
Ye  see  for  yerself  the  mess  they  made." 

He  came  to  a  sudden  pause,  and  then  added 
with  an  air  of  reviving  cheerfulness : 

1  'T  was  bad,  sir,  but  it  might  have  been  worse. 
We  saved  the  buckboard,  an*  we  saved  the  gar 
den  tools,  to  say  nothin*  o*  Master  Augustus." 

Mr.  Carter  grunted  slightly,  and  a  silence 
followed,  during  which  Peter  glanced  tentatively 
toward  the  door;  but  as  his  companion  gave 
no  sign  that  the  interview  was  at  an  end,  he 
waited.  Mr.  Carter's  eye  had  meanwhile 
travelled  back  to  the  paper,  and  his  frown 
was  gathering  anew.  He  finally  faced  the 
groom  with  the  deliberative  air  of  a  counsellor 
summing  up  a  case. 

"And  you  think  it  consonant  with  the  dig 
nity  of  my  position  that  a  New  York  paper 
should  be  able  to  print  such  a  statement  as  that 
in  regard  to  my  son  ?" 


DIGNITY  AND  THE  ELEPHANT    89 

Peter  smiled  dubiously  and  mopped  his  brow, 
but  as  no  politic  answer  occurred  to  him,  he 
continued  silent. 

"There  is  another  matter  which  I  wish  to 
speak  of,"  added  Mr.  Carter,  with  a  fresh  as 
sumption  of  sternness.  "I  am  informed  that 
you  called  the  boys,  in  their  presence,"  he 
paused,  as  though  it  were  painful  for  him 
to  repeat  such  malodorous  words — "damned 
little  devils!  Is  that  so  ?" 

Peter  sighed  heavily. 

"I  don't  know,  sir.  I  might  'a*  said  it 
without  thinkin'.  I  was  excited  when  I  see 
the  roof  a  blazin'  and  I  may  have  spoke  me 
mind." 

"Are  you  not  aware,  Peter,  that  such  lan 
guage  should  never,  under  any  circumstances, 
be  used  in  Master  Bobby's  presence  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  but  if  ye  '11  pardon  the  liberty,  sir, 
there's  times  when  the  Angel  Gabriel  himself 
would  swear  in  Master  Bobby's  presence." 

"That  will  do,  Peter.     I  won't  bandy  words 


9o        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

with  you  any  further;  but  I  wish  this  to  be  a 
warning.  You  are  now  head  groom  —  I  was 
<?ven  considering,  as  you  know  well,  the  advisa 
bility  of  advancing  you  still  further.  Whether 
or  not  I  do  so  will  depend  upon  yourself.  I 
regret  to  say  that  this  episode  has  shaken  my 
confidence." 

There  was  a  sudden  flaring  of  anger  in 
Peter's  eyes.  He  recalled  the  long  years  of 
honest  service  he  had  given  Mr.  Carter,  a  ser 
vice  in  which  his  employer's  interest  had 
always  been  his  own;  and  his  Irish  sense  of 
justice  rebelled.  It  was  on  his  tongue  to  say: 
"  I  Ve  worked  ten  years  at  Willowbrook,  and 
I  Ve  always  done  my  best.  If  my  best  is  not 
good  enough,  you  '11  have  to  look  for  another 
man.  Good  evening,  sir." 

But  he  caught  the  words  before  they  were 
spoken.  Since  Annie  had  come  to  Willow- 
brook,  Peter's  outlook  on  life  had  changed. 
If  a  secret  dream  concerning  himself  and  her 
and  the  coachman's  cottage  were  ever  to  come 


DIGNITY  AND  THE  ELEPHANT    91 

true,  he  must  swallow  his  pride  and  practise 
wisdom.  His  mouth  took  a  straighter  line, 
and  he  listened  to  the  remainder  of  his 
master's  homily  with  his  eyes  bent  sulkily  on 
the  floor. 

"  Had  it  been  one  of  the  other  grooms  who 
was  guilty  of  using  such  language  before  my 
son,  and  of  committing  such  an  —  er  —  un 
pardonable  breach  of  decorum  as  to  paint  him 
with  axle  grease,  I  should  have  discharged  the 
man  on  the  spot.  Your  past  record  has  saved 
you,  but  I  warn  you  that  it  will  not  save  you  a 
second  time.  In  future,  I  shall  expect  you 
to  set  an  example  to  the  under  stablemen. 
You  never  find  me  forgetting  the  dignity  of 
my  position;  let  me  see  that  you  remember  the 
dignity  of  yours.  You  may  go  now." 

Mr.  Carter  dismissed  him  with  a  nod,  and 
turned  back  to  the  desk. 

Annie  was  waiting  in  the  kitchen  to  hear  the 
history  of  the  interview.  Peter  stalked  through 
the  room  without  a  word,  his  face  set  in 


92        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

ominous  lines.  She  followed  him  to  the  back 
veranda,  and  caught  him  by  the  coat  lapel. 

"What 's  the  matter,  Petey  ?  What  are  you 
mad  at  ?  Did  n't  he  thank  you  for  savin'  the 
things  ?" 

"Thank  nothin',"  Peter  growled.  "Do  the 
Carters  ever  thank  you  ?  All  the  blame  is 
fixed  on  me  for  the  things  them  little  divvels 
do  —  damn  little  divvels  —  that's  what  they 
are.  'An'  is  it  fittin','  says  he,  'that  ye  should 
use  such  language  before  Master  Bobby  ?' 
Lor'!  I  wish  he  could  hear  the  language 
Master  Bobby  used  before  me  the  time  he  fell 
into  Trixy's  manger.  I  'd  like  to  meet  Mr. 
Carter  in  the  open  once,  as  man  to  man.  I  'd 
knock  him  out  in  the  first  round  with  me  right 
hand  tied  behind  me." 

Peter  was  clearly  fighting  mad. 

"I'd  like  to  get  a  whack  at  that  reporter 
what  wrote  that  paper.  Young  Malone  has 
missed  his  callin',  has  he  ?  I  'd  show  him 
where  young  Malone's  talents  lie;  I  'd  knock 


DIGNITY  AND  THE  ELEPHANT    93 

him  into  the  middle  o*  next  week.  'Gallant 
work  o*  Chief  McDougal.'  Bloomin'  lob 
ster  in  a  rubber  helmet.  I  '11  teach  him  his 
dooty  if  I  ever  ketch  him  out  alone.  It  was  me 
as  saved  the  buckboard  an*  all  the  tools,  an' 
Master  Augustus  in  the  bargain  —  wish  I  M 
let  him  burn,  I  do.  'An','  says  Mr.  Carter, 
'do  ye  think  it  consonant  wid  the  dignity  o*  me 
position,'  he  says,  'that  me  son  should  be 
painted  with  axle  grease  —  me  —  the  Honour 
able  Jerome  B.  Carter,  Esquire  ?'  His  dig 
nity!  Take  away  his  money  an*  his  dignity, 
an*  there  would  n't  be  enough  of  him  left  to 
fill  a  half-pint  measure.  I  '11  get  it  back  at  him; 
you  see  if  I  don't.  I  risks  me  life  and  I  burns 
me  best  pants,  an'  that 's  all  the  thanks  I  get!" 

A  week  had  passed  over  Willowbrook.  The 
charred  ruins  of  the  waggon-shed  had  been 
carted  to  the  barnyard;  the  Comanche  braves 
had  become  white  again  —  though  in  the  course 
of  it  they  had  lost  a  layer  of  skin  —  and  the 


94        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

subject  of  axle  grease  and  brass  polish  had  been 
allowed  to  fade  into  the  past.  Mr.  Carter, 
having  once  eased  his  mind,  had  banished  all 
rancour  from  his  thoughts.  Being  a  lawyer, 
with  influence  in  high  places,  he  had  received 
an  unexpectedly  adequate  insurance,  and  he 
was  beginning  to  regard  the  matter  as  a  funny 
after-dinner  story.  But  Peter  persisted  in  be 
ing  sulky.  Though  his  blistered  hands  were 
healed,  his  wounded  feelings  were  still  sore. 
As  he  drove  his  employer  to  and  from  the  train, 
he  no  longer  permitted  himself  the  usual 
friendly  chatter;  his  answers  to  all  queries 
were  respectful  but  not  cordial.  Peter  was 
steadfastly  determined  to  keep  Mr.  Carter  in 
his  place.  Meanwhile,  he  was  looking  longingly 
for  the  chance  to  "get  it  back."  And  suddenly 
the  chance  presented  itself  —  fairly  walked 
into  his  hands  —  a  revenge  of  such  thorough 
going  appropriateness  that  Peter  would  have 
held  himself  a  fool  to  let  it  slip. 

The  yearly  circus  had  arrived  —  the  Nevin 


DIGNITY  AND  THE  ELEPHANT    95 

Brothers'  Company  of  Trick  Animals  and 
Acrobats  —  and  every  billboard  in  the  village 
was  blazing  with  pictures  of  Rajah,  the  largest 
elephant  in  captivity.  The  Nevin  Brothers 
confined  themselves  to  one-night  stands.  On 
the  day  of  the  performance,  Peter,  having 
driven  Mr.  Carter  to  the  station,  stopped  on 
his  way  home  at  Scanlan's  to  have  the  shoe 
tightened  on  Trixy's  off  hind  foot.  The  shop 
was  just  around  the  corner  from  the  vacant 
lot  where  the  tents  were  going  up,  and  while 
he  was  waiting,  Peter  strolled  across  to  watch. 
To  his  surprise  and  gratification  he  dis 
covered  that  the  elephant  trainer  was  a  boy 
hood  friend.  Arm  in  arm  with  this  distin 
guished  person,  he  passed  by  the  curious  crowd 
of  onlookers  into  the  animal  tent  for  a  private 
view  of  Rajah.  Once  inside,  and  out  of  sight, 
it  transpired  that  his  friend  would  be  obliged 
if  Peter  could  lend  him  a  dollar.  Peter  for 
tunately  had  only  fifty  cents  about  him;  but 
the  friend  accepted  this,  with  the  murmured 


96        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

apology  that  the  boss  was  slow  in  forwarding 
their  wages.  He  more  than  paid  the  debt, 
however,  by  presenting  Peter  with  a  pass  for 
himself  and  "lady,"  and  Peter  drove  home  in 
a  pleasant  glow  of  pride  and  expectation. 

He  submitted  the  pass  to  Annie,  and  drove 
on  to  the  stables,  casually  informing  the  groom 
who  helped  him  unhitch  that  he  had  gone  to 
school  with  Rajah's  trainer,  and  wished  he 
had  a  dollar  for  every  time  he  'd  licked  him. 

Toward  seven  o'clock  that  evening,  as  Peter 
was  happily  changing  from  plum-coloured  livery 
into  checked  town  clothes,  a  telephone  call  came 
out  from  the  house,  ordering  the  waggonette  and 
the  runabout.  "Yes,  sir,  in  fifteen  minutes,  sir," 
said  Peter  into  the  mouthpiece,  but  what  he 
added  to  the  stable  boy  would  scarcely  have 
been  fit  for  Master  Bobby's  presence.  He 
tumbled  back  into  his  official  clothes,  and  hur 
ried  to  the  kitchen  to  break  the  news  to  Annie. 

"  It 's  all  up  with  us,"  said  Peter  gloomily. 
"They  Ve  ordered  out  the  two  rigs,  and  both 


DIGNITY  AND  THE  ELEPHANT    97 

Billy  an*  me  has  to  go  —  if  it  had  only  been  ten 
minutes  earlier  they  'd  uv  caught  Joe  before 
he  got  off." 

"  'T  is  a  pity,  it  is,  an*  you  with  the  lovely 
pass!"  she  mourned. 

"Why  the  dickens  should  they  take  it  into 
their  heads  to  go  drivin*  around  the  country 
at  this  time  o'  night  ?"  he  growled. 

"They're  goin'  to  the  circus  themselves!" 
said  Annie.  "Miss  Ethel 's  after  havin'  a  dinner 
party;  I  was  helpin'  Simpkins  pass  the  things, 
and  I  heard  them  plannin'  it.  The  whole 
crowd's  goin' —  all  but  Mrs.  Carter;  she  don't 
like  the  smell  o'  the  animals.  But  Mr.  Carter 's 
goin'  and  all  four  boys  —  Master  Augustus 
was  in  bed  an'  they  got  him  up  an'  dressed  him. 
They  're  laughin'  an*  carryin'  on  till  you  'd 
think  they  was  crazy.  Mr.  Harry  Jasper  pre 
tended  he  was  a  polar  bear,  an'  was  eatin' 
Master  Augustus  up." 

"  Mr.  Carter 's  goin'  ?"  asked  Peter,  with  a 
show  of  incredulity.  "An*  does  he  think  it 


98        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

consonant  wid  the  dignity  o'  his  position  to 
be  attendin'  circuses  ?  I  would  n't  'a'  believed 
it  of  him!" 

"  He  's  goin'  to  help  chaperon  *em." 

"  I  'm  glad  it  ain't  for  pleasure.  I  'd  hate 
to  think  o'  the  Honourable  Jerome  B.  Carter 
descendin*  so  low." 

"  I  'm  to  serve  supper  to  'em  when  they  come 
home,  an'  I  '11  have  somethin'  waitin'  for  you 
on  the  back  stoop,  Pete,"  she  called  after  him 
as  he  turned  away. 

Peter  and  Billy  deposited  their  passengers 
at  the  entrance  of  the  main  tent,  and  withdrew 
to  hitch  the  horses  to  the  fence  railing.  A  num 
ber  of  miscellaneous  vehicles  were  drawn  up 
around  them  —  mud-spattered  farmers'  wag 
gons,  livery  "buggies" — but  private  carriages 
with  liveried  coachmen  were  conspicuously 
lacking.  Peter  could  not,  accordingly,  while 
away  the  tedium  of  waiting  with  the  usual 
pleasant  gossip;  as  for  opening  a  conversation 
with  Billy,  he  would  as  soon  have  thought 


DIGNITY  AND  THE  ELEPHANT    99 

of  opening  one  with  the  nearest  hitching- 
post.  Billy's  ideas  were  on  a  par  with  Billy's 
sparring,  and  in  either  case  it  was  a  waste  of 
breath  to  bother  with  him. 

Peter  sat  for  a  time  watching  the  crowd  push 
about  the  entrance,  the  pass  burning  in  his 
pocket.  Then  he  climbed  down,  examined 
the  harness,  patted  the  horses,  and  glanced 
wistfully  toward  the  flaming  torches  at  either 
side  of  the  door. 

"Say,  Bill,"  he  remarked  in  an  offhand  tone, 
"you  stay  here  and  watch  these  horses  till  I 
come  back.  I  'm  just  goin'  to  step  in  an'  see 
me  friend  the  elephant  trainer  a  minute.  Sit 
on  the  lap  robes,  and  keep  yer  eye  on  the  whips; 
there 's  likely  to  be  a  lot  o'  sneak  thieves 
around."  He  started  off,  and  then  paused  to 
add,  "  If  ye  leaves  them  horses,  I  '11  come  back 
an'  give  ye  the  worst  tannin'  ye  ever  had  in  yer 
life." 

He  presented  his  pass  and  was  admitted. 
The  show  had  not  begun.  A  couple  of  clowns 


ioo      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

were  throwing  sawdust  at  each  other  in  the  ring, 
but  this  was  palpably  a  mere  overture  to  keep 
the  audience  in  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind  until 
the  grand  opening  march  of  all  the  animals 
and  all  the  players  —  advertised  to  take  place 
promptly  at  eight,  but  already  twenty  minutes 
overdue.  Peter,  aware  that  it  would  not  be 
wise  to  let  his  master  see  him,  made  himself  as 
inconspicuous  as  possible.  Hidden  behind  the 
broad  back  of  a  German  saloon-keeper,  he 
drifted  with  the  crowd  into  the  side  tent,  where 
the  animals  were  kept. 

Here,  vociferous  showmen  were  urging  a  hes 
itating  public  to  enter  the  side-shows,  containing 
the  cream  of  the  exhibit,  and  only  ten  cents 
extra.  Vendors  of  peanuts  and  popcorn  and 
all-day-suckers  were  adding  to  the  babel,  while 
the  chatter  of  monkeys  and  the  surly  grumbling 
of  a  big  lion  formed  an  intoxicating  undertone. 

Across  the  tent,  gathered  in  a  laughing  group 
about  the  elephant,  Peter  caught  sight  of  the 
Willowbrook  party  —  the  ladies  in  fluffy,  light 


DIGNITY  AND  THE  ELEPHANT  101 

gowns  and  opera  coats,  the  gentlemen  in  im 
maculate  evening  clothes.  They  were  con 
spicuously  out  of  their  element,  but  were  hav 
ing  a  very  good  time.  The  bystanders  had 
left  them  in  a  group  apart,  and  were  granting 
them  as  much  attention  as  Rajah  himself. 
The  elephant,  in  scarlet  and  gold  trappings, 
with  a  canopied  platform  on  his  back,  was  ac 
cepting  popcorn  balls  from  Master  Augustus's 
hand,  and  Master  Augustus  was  squealing  his 
delight.  Above  the  other  noises  Peter  could 
hear  his  former  schoolmate  declaiming  in  im 
pressive  tones: 

"Fourteen  years  old,  and  the  largest  elephant 
in  captivity.  Weighs  over  eight  thousand 
pounds,  and  eats  five  tons  of  hay  a  month. 
He  measures  nine  feet  to  the  shoulders,  and 
ain't  got  his  full  growth  yet.  Step  up  the  ladder, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  get  a  bird's-eye  view 
from  the  top.  Don't  be  bashful;  there's  not 
the  slightest  danger." 

Mr.   Harry  Jasper  and  Master   Bobby  ac- 


102      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

cepted  the  invitation.  They  mounted  the  some 
what  shaky  flight  of  steps,  sat  for  a  moment  on 
the  red  velvet  seat,  and  with  a  debonair  bow  to 
the  laughing  onlookers,  descended  safely  to  the 
ground.  They  then  urged  Mr.  Carter  up,  but 
he  emphatically  refused;  his  dignity,  it  was 
clear,  could  not  stand  the  strain. 

"Step  up,  sir,"  the  showman  insisted.  "You 
can't  get  any  idea  of  his  size  from  the  ground. 
There 's  not  the  slightest  danger.  He 's  as 
playful  as  a  kitten  when  he  's  feeling  well." 

Miss  Ethel  and  one  of  the  young  men  pushed 
Mr.  Carter  forward;  and  finally,  with  a  fatuous 
smile  of  condescension,  he  gave  his  overcoat 
to  Master  Bobby  to  hold,  his  walking-stick  to 
Master  Augustus,  and  having  settled  his  silk 
hat  firmly  on  his  head,  he  began  climbing  with 
careful  deliberation. 

Peter,  hidden  in  the  crowd,  fingering  in  his 
pocket  the  dollar  he  had  intended  to  spend, 
suddenly  had  an  infernal  prompting.  His 
revenge  spread  itself  before  him  in  tempting 


DIGNITY  AND  THE  ELEPHANT  103 

array.  For  one  sane  moment  he  struggled 
with  the  thought,  but  his  unconquerable  sense 
of  humour  overthrew  all  hesitation.  He  slipped 
around  behind  Rajah  and  beckoned  to  the 
trainer.  All  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Mr.  Carter's 
shining  hat  as  it  slowly  rose  above  the  level  of 
the  crowd.  The  two  men  held  a  hurried  con 
sultation  in  a  whisper;  the  bill  inconspicuously 
changed  hands,  and  Peter,  unobserved,  sank 
into  the  crowd  again.  The  trainer  issued  a 
brief  order  to  one  of  the  bandmen  and  resumed 
his  position  at  Rajah's  head. 

Mr.  Carter  had  by  this  time  gained  the  top, 
and  with  one  foot  on  the  platform  and  the  other 
on  the  upper  round  of  the  ladder  was  approv 
ingly  taking  his  bird's-eye  view,  with  mur 
mured  exclamations  to  those  below. 

"Stupendous!  He  must  measure  six  feet 
across  —  and  not  reached  his  full  growth ! 
A  wonderful  specimen  —  really  wonderful." 

Rajah  suddenly  transferred  his  weight  from 
one  side  to  the  other,  and  the  ladder  shook 


io4      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

unsteadily.  Mr.  Carter,  with  an  apprehensive 
glance  at  the  ground,  prepared  to  descend; 
but  the  keeper  shouted  in  a  tone  of  evident 
alarm: 

"Take  your  foot  off  the  ladder,  sir!  Sit 
down.  For  heaven's  sake,  sit  down!" 

The  ladder  wavered  under  his  feet,  and  Mr. 
Carter  waited  for  no  explanations.  With  a 
frenzied  grasp  at  the  red  and  gold  trappings 
he  sat  down,  and  the  ladder  fell  with  a  thud, 
leaving  him  marooned  on  Rajah's  back.  On 
the  instant  the  band  struck  into  "Yankee 
Doodle,"  and  Rajah,  with  a  toss  of  his  head 
and  an  excited  shake  of  his  whole  frame,  fell 
into  a  ponderous  two-step. 

"Stop    him!     Hold    him!     The    ladder- 
bring  the  ladder!"     shouted  Mr.  Carter.     His 
voice  was  drowned  in  the  blare  of  trumpets. 

Without  giving  ear  to  further  orders,  the 
elephant  plunged  toward  the  opening  between 
the  two  tents  and  danced  into  the  ring  at  the 
head  of  a  long  line  of  gilded  waggons  and  gaudy 


DIGNITY  AND  THE  ELEPHANT  105 

floats.  The  grand  opening  march  of  all  the 
players  and  all  the  animals  had  begun. 

Peter  looked  at  the  Willowbrook  party. 
They  were  leaning  on  each  other's  shoulders, 
weak  with  laughter.  He  took  one  glance  into 
the  ring,  where  Mr.  Carter's  aristocratic  pro 
file  was  rising  and  falling  in  jerky  harmony 
with  the  music.  And  in  the  shadow  of  the  lion 
cage  Peter  collapsed;  he  rocked  back  and  forth, 
hugging  himself  in  an  ecstasy  of  mirth.  "Gee! 
Oh,  gee!"  he  gasped.  "Will  ye  look  at  the 
dignity  of  his  position  now  ?"  In  one  perfect, 
soul-satisfying  moment  past  slights  were  blotted 
out,  and  those  booked  for  the  future  were 
forgiven. 

Rajah  completed  the  circuit  and  two-stepped 
back  into  the  animal  tent  drunk  with  glory. 
Half  a  dozen  hands  held  the  ladder  while  Mr. 
Carter,  white  with  rage,  descended  to  the 
ground.  The  language  which  he  used  to  the 
keepers,  Peter  noted  with  concern,  should  never 
have  been  spoken  in  Master  Bobby's  presence. 


106      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

The  elephant  trainer  waited  patiently  until 
the  gentleman  stopped  for  breath,  then  he 
took  off  his  hat  and  suggested  in  a  tone  of 
deprecation: 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  the  price  for  lead 
ing  the  grand  march  is  fifty  cents  at  the  even 
ing  performance." 

"  I  '11  have  you  arrested  —  I  '11  swear  out  an 
injunction  and  stop  the  whole  show!'*  thun 
dered  Mr.  Carter,  as  he  stalked  toward  the 
entrance. 

Peter,  coming  to  a  sudden  appreciation  of  his 
own  peril,  slipped  out  behind  him.  He  ran 
smack  into  Billy  who  was  hovering  about  the 
door. 

"So  I  caught  ye,"  hissed  Peter.  "Get  back 
to  them  horses  as  fast  as  ye  can,"  and  he  started 
on  a  run,  shoving  Billy  before  him.  Mr.  Carter, 
fortunately  not  knowing  where  to  find  the  car 
riages,  was  blundering  around  on  the  other  side. 

"What's  yer  hurry?"  gasped  Billy 

"Get   up   and  shut   up,"  said    Peter    senten- 


DIGNITY  AND  THE  ELEPHANT  107 

tiously,  as  he  shot  him  toward  the  waggonette. 
"An'  ye  can  thank  the  saints  for  a  whole  skin. 
We  ain't  neither  of  us  left  our  seats  to-night 
-  d  'ye  hear  ?" 

To  Billy's  amazement,  Peter  jumped  into 
the  runabout,  and  fell  asleep.  A  second  later 
Mr.  Carter  loomed  beside  them. 

"Peter?     William?" 

His  tone  brought  them  to  attention  with  a 
jerk.  Peter  straightened  his  hat  and  blinked. 

"What,  sir?  Yes,  sir!  Beg  pardon,  sir; 
I  must  'a'  been  asleep." 

Mr.  Carter  leaped  to  the  seat  beside  him. 

"Drive  to  the  police  station,"  he  ordered, 
in  a  tone  that  sent  apprehensive  chills  chasing 
up  Billy's  back. 

"Yes,  sir.  Whoa,  Trixy!  Back,  b-a-c-k. 
Get  up!"  he  cut  her  with  the  whip,  and  they 
rolled  from  the  circle  of  flaring  torches  into  the 
outer  darkness. 

"She's  a  trifle  skittish,  sir,"  said  Peter,  in 
his  old-time  conversational  tone.  "  The  noise  o* 


io8      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

the  clappin'  was  somethin'  awful;  it  frightened 
the  horses,  sir.*' 

Mr.  Carter  grunted  by  way  of  response,  and 
Peter  in  the  darkness  hugged  himself  and 
smiled.  He  was  once  more  brimming  with  cor 
dial  good-will  toward  all  the  world.  Mr.  Carter, 
however,  was  too  angry  to  keep  still,  and  he 
presently  burst  into  a  denunciation  of  the  whole 
race  of  showmen,  employing  a  breadth  of 
vocabulary  that  Peter  had  never  dreamed 
him  capable  of. 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  groom  affably  agreed,  "It's 
true  what  ye  say.  They  're  fakes,  every  one 
of  them,  an'  this  show  to-night,  sir,  is  the  big 
gest  fake  of  all.  The  way  they  do  people  is 
somethin'  awful.  Fifty  cents  they  charges  to 
get  in,  an'  twenty-five  more  for  reserved  seats. 
Extra  for  each  of  the  side  shows,  an'  there  ain't 
nothin*  in  them,  sir.  Peanuts  is  ten  cents  a 
pint  when  ye  can  buy  them  at  any  stand  for 
five,  an'  their  popcorn  balls  is  stale.  I  Ve 
quit  goin'  to  shows  meself.  I  spent  a  dollar 


DIGNITY  AND  THE  ELEPHANT  109 

in  five  minutes  at  the  last  one,  sir.  I  had  a  good 
time  and  I  ain't  regrettin'  the  money,  but  't  is 
expensive  for  a  poor  man." 

Mr.  Carter  grunted. 

"The  worst  sell  I  ever  heard  of,  though," 
Peter  added  genially,  "  is  chargin'  fifty  cents  to 
ride  the  elephant  in  the  openin'  grand  march. 
Ye  would  n't  think  it  possible  that  anybody  'd 
want  to  do  it,  but  they  tells  me  that  never  a 
night  goes  by  but  somebody  turns  up  so  for- 
gettin'  of  his  dignity " 

Mr.  Carter  glanced  at  Peter  with  a  look  of 
quick  suspicion.  The  groom  leaned  forward,  and 
with  innocent  solicitude  examined  Trixy's  gait. 

"  Whoa,  steady,  ole  girl !  She  's  limpin'  again 
in  her  off  hind  foot.  They  never  shoe  her  right 
at  Scanlan's,  sir.  Don't  ye  think  I  'd  better 
take  her  down  to  Gafney's  in  the  mornin'  ?" 

They  were  approaching  the  station  house. 
Peter  glanced  sideways  at  his  companion,  and 
picked  up  the  conversation  with  a  deprecatory 
cough. 


i  io      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"Yes,  sir,  the  show's  a  fake,  sir,  an*  no 
mistake.  But  if  I  was  you,  sir,  I  would  n't 
be  too  hard  on  'em.  'T  would  n't  be  a  popular 
move.  If  ye  'rethinkin'  of  runnin'  for  judge," 
Peter  broke  off  and  started  anew.  "If  ye '11 
excuse  me  tellin'  it,  sir,  I  heard  'em  sayin'  in 
Callahan's  saloon  the  other  day  that  they 
guessed  ye  was  a  better  man  than  Judge 
Benedict  all  right,  but  that  ye  was  too  stuck 
up.  They  did  n't  care  about  votin'  for  a  man 
who  thought  he  was  too  good  to  mix  with 
them.  An'  so,  sir,  you  're  appearin'  at  the 
circus  so  familiar  like  was  a  politic  move  — 
meanin'  no  offence.  I  know  ye  did  n't  do  it 
on  purpose,  sir,  but  it  '11  bring  ye  votes." 

He  drew  up  before  the  station  house  in  a 
wide  curve,  and  cramped  the  wheels  and  waited. 

Mr.  Carter  appeared  lost  in  thought.  Finally 
he  roused  himself  to  say: 

"Well,  after  all,  perhaps  there  is  n't  any  use. 
You  may  drive  back  and  pick  up  the  others. 
I  've  changed  my  mind." 


THE  RISE  OF  VITTORIO 


THE  RISE  OF  VITTORIO 

DAVID  MACKENNA,  the  gardener  at 
Jasper  Place,  was  a  Scotchman  of  the 
Scotch.  He  was  truculent  when  sober,  and 
actively  pugnacious  when  drunk.  It  may  be  said 
to  his  credit  that  he  was  not  drunk  very  often, 
and  that  when  he  was  drunk  he  was  canny 
enough  to  keep  out  of  Mr.  Jasper's  way.  But 
one  night,  after  a  prolonged  political  dis 
cussion  at  Callahan's  saloon,  he  was  unsteadily 
steering  homeward  across  the  side  lawn  just 
as  Mr.  Harry  and  two  friends  who  were  visiting 
him  emerged  from  the  gap  in  the  hedge  that 
divided  Jasper  Place  from  Willowbrook.  The 
gentlemen  were  returning  from  a  dinner,  and 
were  clothed  in  evening  dress.  They  in  no 
wise  resembled  tramps;  but  David's  vision 

"3 


1 14      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

was  blurred  and  his  fighting  blood  was  up.  He 
possessed  himself  of  an  armful  of  damp  sods, 
and  warily  advanced  to  the  attack.  He  was 
not  in  a  condition  to  aim  very  straight,  but  the 
three  shining  shirt-fronts  made  an  easy  mark. 
Before  his  victims  had  recovered  from  the  sud 
denness  of  the  onslaught  sufficiently  to  protect 
themselves,  he  had  demolished  three  dress  suits. 

The  next  morning  David  was  dismissed. 
The  other  workers,  both  at  Jasper  Place  and 
Willowbrook,  appreciated  the  justice  of  the 
sentence,  but  were  sorry  to  see  him  go.  David's 
argumentative  temper  and  David's  ready  fists 
had  added  zest  to  social  intercourse.  They 
feared  that  his  successor  would  be  of  a  milder 
type,  and  less  entertaining.  The  successor 
came  some  three  days  later,  and  Peter,  observing 
his  arrival  across  the  hedge,  paid  an  early  call 
on  Patrick  to  see  what  he  was  like.  Peter 
returned  to  Willowbrook  disgusted. 

"  He  's  a  Dago !  A  jabberin'  Dago  out  of  a 
ditch.  He  can't  talk  more  'n  ten  words,  an* 


THE  RISE  OF  VITTORIO         115 

he  don't  understand  what  they  means.  Mr. 
Harry  picked  him  all  right  for  a  peaceable 
citizen  who  won't  be  spoilin'  no  dress  suits. 
He  ain't  got  a  drop  o'  fight  in  him.  Ye  call 
him  a  liar,  an'  he  smiles  an'  says,  'Sank  you!'  ' 

Vittorio  set  about  the  weeding  of  his  flower 
beds  with  the  sunny  patience  bred  of  love. 
Whatever  were  his  failings  in  English  and  the 
war-like  arts,  at  least  he  understood  his  busi 
ness.  Mr.  Harry  watched  his  protege  with 
pleased  approval.  He  had  always  admired 
the  Italian  character  theoretically,  but  this 
was  the  first  time  that  he  had  ever  put  his 
admiration  to  the  actual  test;  and  he  con 
gratulated  himself  upon  finding  at  last  the 
ideal  gardener  with  the  pastoral  soul  that  he 
had  long  been  seeking.  Mr.  Harry  had  no 
racial  prejudices  himself,  and  he  took  it  for 
granted  that  others  were  as  broad. 

Vittorio's  pastoral  soul,  however,  won  less 
approval  among  his  fellow-workers.  Peter  did 
not  share  Mr.  Harry's  enthusiasm  for  the 


n6   MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

Italian  race,  and  Peter  largely  swayed  public 
opinion  both  at  Jasper  Place  and  Willowbrook. 

"It's  somethin'  awful,'*  he  declared,  "the 
way  this  country's  gettin'  cluttered  up  with 
Dagoes.  There  ought  to  be  a  law  against 
lettin'  'em  come  in." 

In  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  Peter  refused 
to  let  Vittorio  come  in;  and  the  man  was  con 
signed  to  social  darkness  and  the  companion 
ship  of  his  plants.  He  did  not  seem  to  mind 
this  ostracism,  however,  but  whistled  and 
sang  at  his  work  with  unabated  cheerfulness. 
His  baby  English  shortly  became  the  butt  of 
everybody's  ridicule,  but  as  he  never  under 
stood  the  jokes,  he  bore  no  grudge.  The  only 
matter  in  which  he  showed  the  slightest  per 
sonal  prejudice  was  the  fact  that  they  all 
persisted  in  calling  him  "Tony." 

"  My  name  no  Tony,"  he  would  patiently 
explain  half  a  dozen  times  a  day.  "  My  name 
Vittorio  Emanuele,  same-a  de  king." 

Tony,  however,  he  remained. 


THE  RISE  OF  VITTORIO        117 

The  man's  chief  anxiety  was  to  learn  English, 
and  he  was  childishly  grateful  to  anyone  who 
helped  him.  The  stablemen  took  a  delighted 
interest  in  his  education;  it  was  considered 
especially  funny  to  teach  him  scurrilous  slang. 
"  Come  off  your  perch,  you  old  fool,"  was  one 
of  the  phrases  he  patiently  committed  to 
memory,  and  later  repeated  to  Mr.  Harry 
with  smiling  pride  at  his  own  progress. 

Mr.  Harry  spoke  to  Peter  on  the  subject. 

"Yes,  sir,'*  Peter  agreed  easily,  "it's  dis- 
gustin',  the  language  these  Dagoes  picks  up. 
I  can't  imagine  where  they  hears  it,  sir. 
They  're  that  familiar,  ye  can't  pound  no 
manners  into  them." 

Mr.  Harry  wisely  dropped  the  matter.  He 
knew  Peter,  and  he  thought  it  safest  to  let 
Vittorio  work  out  his  own  salvation. 

Several  of  the  practical  jokes  at  the  man  s 
expense  should,  logically,  have  ended  in  a 
fight.  Had  he  taken  up  the  gauntlet,  even  at 
the  expense  of  a  whipping,  they  would  have 


1 1 8      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

respected  him  —  in  so  far  as  Irishmen  can 
respect  an  Italian  —  but  nothing  could  goad 
him  into  action.  He  swallowed  insults  with 
a  smiling  zest,  as  though  he  liked  their  taste. 
This  unfailing  peaceableness  was  held  to  be 
the  more  disgraceful  in  that  he  was  a  strongly 
built  fellow,  quite  capable  of  standing  up  for 
his  rights. 

"  He  ain't  so  bad  looking,"  Annie  commented 
one  day,  as  she  and  Peter  strolled  up  to  the 
hedge  and  inspected  the  new  gardener  at  work 
with  the  clipping-shears.  "And,  at  least,  he  's 
tall  —  that 's  something.  They  're  usually  so 
little,  them  Eye-talians." 

"Huh!"  said  Peter,  "size  ain't  no  merit. 
"The  less  there  is  of  an  Eye-talian,  the  better. 
His  bigness  don't  help  along  his  courage  none. 
Ye  're  a  coward,  Tony.  D  'ye  hear  that  ? " 

Their  comments  had  been  made  with  per 
fect  freedom  in  Vittorio's  presence,  while  he 
hummed  a  tune  from  "  Fra  Diavolo"  in  smiling 
unconcern.  Unless  one  couched  one's  insults 


THE  RISE  OF  VITTORIO         119 

in  kindergarten  language  and  fired  them 
straight  into  his  face,  they  passed  him  by 
unscathed. 

"Ye 're  a  coward,  Tony,"  Peter  repeated. 

"Cow-ward?"  Vittorio  broke  off  his  song 
and  beamed  upon  them  with  a  flash  of  black 
eyes  and  white  teeth.  "How  you  mean, 
cow-ward  ?  No  understand." 

"A  coward,"  Peter  patiently  explained,  "is 
a  man  who's  afraid  to  fight  —  like  you.  Eye- 
talians  are  cowards.  They  don't  dare  stand 
up  man  to  man  an*  take  what 's  comin*  to  'em. 
When  they  've  got  a  grudge  to  pay,  they  creeps 
up  in  the  night  an'  sticks  a  knife  in  yer  back. 
That 's  bein'  a  coward." 

The  insulting  significance  of  this  escaped 
Vittorio,  but  he  clung  to  the  word  delightedly. 
"Cow-ward,  cow-ward,"  he  repeated,  to  fix 
the  syllables  in  his  mind.  "Nice  word!  Sank 
you."  Then,  as  a  glimmering  of  Peter's 
insinuation  finally  penetrated,  he  shook  his 
head  and  laughed.  The  charge  amused  him. 


120      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"Me  no  cow-ward!"  he  declared.  "No  afraid 
fight,  but  no  like-a  fight.  Too  hard  work." 
He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  spread  out  his 
hands.  "More  easy  take  care-a  flower." 

The  subtlety  of  this  explanation  was  lost 
upon  Peter,  and  the  two  went  their  ways;  the 
one  happily  engaged  with  his  weeding  and  his 
pruning,  the  other  looking  on  across  the 
hedge  contemptuously  scornful. 

Peter's  ideal  of  the  highest  human  attain 
ment  was  to  become  a  "true  sport."  His  vo 
cabulary  was  intensive  rather  than  extensive, 
and  the  few  words  it  contained  meant  much. 
The  term  "true  sport"  connoted  all  desirable 
qualities.  Abstractly,  it  signified  ability,  dar 
ing,  initiative,  force;  it  meant  that  the  bearer 
attacked  the  world  with  easy,  conquering  grace, 
and  —  surest  test  of  all  —  that  he  faced  defeat 
no  less  than  success  with  a  high  heart.  Con 
cretely,  a  true  sport  could  play  polo  and  ride 
to  hounds,  could  drive  a  motor-car  or  a  four- 
in-hand  or  sail  a  boat,  could  shoot  or  swim 


THE  RISE  OF  VITTORIO        121 

or  box.  All  of  these  things,  and  several  others, 
Mr.  Harry  Jasper  could  do.  It  was  from 
observing  him  that  Peter's  definition  had 
gained  such  precision. 

The  billiard-room  mantelpiece  at  Jasper 
Place  held  a  row  of  silver  cups,  relics  of  Mr. 
Harry's  college  days.  The  hall  at  Jasper 
Place  testified  to  Mr.  Harry's  prowess  with  the 
rifle.  A  moose  head  decorated  the  arch,  a 
grizzly  bear  skin  stretched  before  the  hearth, 
and  a  crocodile's  head  plucked  from  the  mud 
of  its  native  Nile  emerged  grinning  from  the 
chimney-piece.  Some  day  Mr.  Harry  was 
going  to  India  after  a  tiger  skin  to  put  over  the 
couch;  in  the  meanwhile  he  contented  himself 
with  duck-shooting  on  Great  South  Bay,  or  an 
occasional  dip  into  the  Adirondacks. 

Patrick  had  accompanied  him  on  the  last 
of  these  trips,  and  it  had  been  a  long-standing 
promise  that  Peter  should  go  on  the  next. 
Their  camp  was  to  be  in  Canada  this  year, 
as  soon  as  the  open  season  for  caribou  arrived. 


122      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

Peter's  heart  was  set  on  a  caribou  of  his  own, 
and  as  the  summer  wore  to  an  end  his  practice 
with  the  rifle  was  assiduous. 

Mr.  Harry  had  set  up  a  target  down  on 
the  Jasper  beach  —  a  long  strip  of  muddy 
gravel  which  the  inlet,  at  low  tide,  left  bare  — 
and  had  given  the  men  permission  to  shoot. 
One  Saturday  afternoon  Patrick  and  Peter 
and  Billy  were  gathered  on  the  beach  amusing 
themselves  with  a  rifle  and  a  fresh  box  of 
cartridges.  The  target  was  a  good  two  hun 
dred  yards  away.  With  a  light  rifle,  such  as 
the  men  were  using,  it  was  a  very  pretty  shot 
to  hit  one  of  the  outer  rings,  the  bull's-eye, 
through  anything  but  a  lucky  fluke,  being  almost 
impossible. 

"  Mr.  Harry's  givin*  us  a  run  for  our  money," 
Peter  grumbled,  after  splashing  the  water  behind 
the  target  several  times  in  a  vain  attempt  to 
get  his  range.  "Ye'd  better  keep  out,  Billy. 
This  ain't  no  easy  steps  for  little  feet." 

But  Billy,  with  his  usual  aplomb,  insisted 


THE  RISE  OF  VITTORIO         123 

upon  trying.  After  his  second  shot  Peter 
derisively  shouted: 

"Look  out,  Pat!  It  ain't  safe  to  stand  behind 
him;  he  's  likely  to  hit  'most  anything  except 
the  mark." 

Billy  good-naturedly  retired  and  engaged 
himself  in  keeping  score.  The  rivalry  between 
Peter  and  Patrick  was  keen.  The  latter  was 
the  older  hand  at  rifle-shooting,  but  Peter  was 
the  younger  man  and  possessed  the  keener 
eye.  As  soon  as  they  became  accustomed  to 
their  distance  they  pulled  into  line,  and  the 
contest  grew  spirited.  Presently  Vittorio,  a 
garden  hoe  in  hand,  came  loping  across  the 
meadow,  attracted  by  the  shots.  When  he 
saw  what  was  toward,  he  dropped  down  on 
the  bank  and  interestedly  watched  the  match. 
Patrick  had  been  ahead,  but  his  last  shot  went 
wild  and  splashed  the  water  to  the  left  of  the 
target.  Peter  made  the  inner  ring  and  pulled 
the  score  up  even.  He  was  in  an  elated  frame 
of  mind. 


124      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"Hello,  Tony!"  he  called  with  unwonted 
affability  as  he  paused  to  reload.  "See  that 
shot  ?  Pretty  near  hit  the  bull's-eye.  You 
don't  know  how  to  shoot  —  no  ?  Eye-talians 
use  knives.  Americans  use  guns." 

Vittorio  smiled  back,  pleased  at  being  so 
freely  included  in  the  conversation. 

"I  shoot-a  more  good  dat.  You  no  shoot-a 
straight;  no  hit  middle."  His  tone  was  not 
boastful;  he  merely  dropped  the  remark  as  an 
unimpassioned  statement  of  fact. 

Peter  had  raised  the  rifle  to  his  shoulder; 
he  lowered  it  again  to  stare. 

"What  are  ye  givin'  us?"  he  demanded. 
"Ye  think  ye  can  shoot  better 'n  me?" 

Vittorio  shrugged.  He  had  no  desire  to  hurt 
Peter's  feelings,  but  at  the  same  time  he  saw  no 
occasion  to  lie. 

"Course  I  shoot-a  more  good  dat,"  he 
responded  genially.  "  I  shoot-a  long  time. 
You  no  learn  how  like-a  me." 

"Here,"  said  Peter,  stretching  the  rifle  toward 


THE  RISE  OF  VITTORIO         125 

the  man,  "let  me  see  ye  do  it,  then!  Either 
put  up  or  shut  up.  I  '11  show  ye  that  it  ain't  so 
easy  as  it  looks." 

Vittorio  sprang  to  his  feet  with  an  air  of 
surprised  delight. 

"You  let-a  me  shoot?  Sank  you!  Sank  you 
ver'  moch."  He  took  the  rifle  in  his  hand  and 
caressed  the  barrel  with  a  touch  almost  loving. 
His  eyes  were  eager  as  a  child's. 

"Here,  you,  Tony,"  Peter  warned,  "don't 
get  funny  with  that  gun!  Point  it  at  the 
target." 

Vittorio  raised  the  rifle  and  squinted  along 
the  barrel;  then,  as  an  idea  occurred  to  him,  he 
lowered  it  again  and  faced  the  three  men  with 
his  always  sunny  smile.  He  had  a  .sporting 
proposition  to  make. 

"You  shoot-a  more  good  me,  my  name  Tony. 
I  shoot-a  more  good  you,  my  name  Vittorio 
Emanuele,  same-a  de  king.  You  call  me  Vit 
torio,  I  understand,  I  come;  you  call  me  Tony, 
I  no  understand,  no  come." 


126      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

Peter,  whatever  his  prejudices,  was  true  to 
his  ideals. 

"  It 's  a  bargain,  Tony.  Ye  beat  me  shootin' 
and  I  '11  call  ye  any  bloomin'  thing  ye  please  — 
providin'  I  can  twist  me  tongue  to  it." 

Vittorio's  eyes  sought  Patrick's.  He  removed 
the  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  grunted. 

"All-a  right!"  said  Vittorio.  "We  shoot-a 
free  time.  First  me,  den  you,  den  you,  den 
me  again,  like  dat." 

Without  more  ado  he  threw  the  gun  to  his 
shoulder,  and,  scarcely  seeming  to  sight,  fired, 
and  snapped  out  the  empty  cartridge.  As  the 
smoke  cleared  the  three  strained  forward  in 
open-mouthed  astonishment.  He  had  hit  the 
target  squarely  in  the  centre. 

"By  gum!  he's  done  it!"  Peter  gasped; 
then,  after  an  astonished  silence,  "Nothin*  but 
luck  —  he  can't  do  it  again.  Gi'  me  the  gun." 

Peter's  surprise  had  not  steadied  his  nerves; 
his  shot  went  far  astray,  and  he  silently  passed 
the  rifle  to  Patrick.  Patrick  laid  down  his  pipe, 


THE  RISE  OF  VITTORIO        127 

planted  his  feet  firmly,  and  made  the  inner 
ring.  He  passed  the  rifle  on  to  Vittorio,  and 
resumed  his  pipe.  Patrick  was  a  phlegmatic 
soul;  it  took  a  decided  shock  to  rouse  him 
to  words. 

"  Let 's  see  ye  do  it  again,"  said  Peter. 

Vittorio  raised  the  rifle  and  did  it  again.  His 
manner  was  entirely  composed;  he  scored  bull's- 
eyes  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Peter's  feelings  by  now  were  too  complicated 
for  words.  He  studied  the  nonchalant  Vittorio 
a  moment  in  baffled  bewilderment,  then  stepped 
forward  without  remark  to  take  his  turn.  He 
sighted  long  and  carefully,  and  scored  the 
outer  ring.  He  offered  the  rifle  to  Patrick, 
who  waved  it  away. 

"I'm  out." 

"Don't  back  down,"  said  Peter.  "Ye've 
got  two  more  tries.  If  ye  let  him  beat  us  he  '11 
be  so  darned  cocky  there  won't  be  no  livin* 
with  him." 

Patrick  copied  the  Italian's  shrug  and  passed 


128      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

the  rifle  on.  Vittorio  advanced  for  his  third 
turn  under  the  keenly  suspicious  scrutiny  of 
six  eyes.  They  could  not  divine  how  such 
shooting  could  be  accomplished  by  trickery, 
but,  still  more,  they  could  not  divine  how  it 
could  be  accomplished  without.  Vittorio 
sighted  more  carefully  this  time,  but  he  made 
his  bull's-eye  with  unabated  precision. 

"Dat  make-a  free  time,"  he  observed,  relin 
quishing  the  rifle  with  a  regretful  sigh. 

"Guess  I  've  had  enough,"  said  Peter. 
"You  're  Vittorio  Emanuele,  same-a  de  king, 
all  right.  We  don't  appear  to  trot  in  your 
class,  How 'd  ye  learn?" 

"All  Italian  mans  know  how  shoot  —  learn  in 
de  army.  I  shoot-a  long  time.  Shoot-a  AfricV 

"Africa!"  said  Peter.  "You  been  in 
Africa?" 

"Two  time,"  Vittorio  nodded. 

"What'd  ye  shoot  there  —  lions?" 

"No,  no  lion."  Vittorio  raised  his  shoulders 
with  a  deprecatory  air.  "Just  man." 


THE  RISE  OF  VITTORIO         129 

"Oh!"  said  Peter.  His  tone  was  noticeably 
subdued. 

Mr.  Harry  Jasper,  also  attracted  by  the 
shooting,  came  strolling  along  the  beach  to 
see  how  the  match  was  going,  but  arrived  too 
late  to  witness  Vittorio's  spectacular  exhibit. 
Mr.  Harry  considered  himself  a  pretty  good 
shot;  he  had  often  beaten  Peter,  and  Peter 
entertained  a  slightly  malicious  desire  to  see 
him  worsted  once  at  his  own  game. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Harry!"  he  called  carelessly. 
"We  've  been  tryin'  our  hands  at  yer  target,  like 
ye  said  we  might,  an'  this  here  new  gardener- 
man  come  along  an'  wanted  to  have  a  try.  He  's 
a  surprisin'  good  shot  for  an  Eye-talian.  Ye 
would  n't  believe  it,  but  he  beat  Pat  an*  he  beat 
me.  Would  you  mind  shootin'  with  him  once  ? 
I  'd  like  to  show  him  what  Americans  can  do." 

Peter's  tone  was  a  touch  over-careless.  Mr. 
Harry  glanced  at  him  suspiciously,  and  from 
him  to  Vittorio,  who  was  looking  on  with 
amiable  aloofness,  quite  unaware  that  he  was 


130      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

the  subject  of  discussion.  Mr.  Harry  had  not 
been  entirely  blind  to  the  trials  of  David's 
peaceable  successor,  and  he  was  glad  to  see 
that  the  man  was  coming  to  the  top. 

"So  he  's  beaten  you  ?  How  does  that  hap 
pen,  Peter  ?  I  thought  you  prided  yourself 
on  your  shooting." 

"  I  'm  a  little  out  o'  practice,"  said  Peter. 

Mr.  Harry  ran  his  eye  over  Vittorio's  well- 
set-up  figure. 

"Served  in  the  army,  Vittorio?" 

"Si,  signore,  five  year." 

"What  corps  —  Bersaglierif" 

"Si,  si!"  Vittorio's  face  was  alight.  "I 
b'long  Bersaglierl.  How  you  know  ? " 

"Thank  you  for  your  interest,  Peter,"  Mr. 
Harry  laughed.  "  I  don't  believe  I  '11  shoot 
with  him  to-day.  I  'm  a  little  out  of  practice 
myself." 

Peter's  face  was  mystified. 

"The  Bersaglieri"  Mr.  Harry  explained, 
"are  the  sharpshooters  of  the  Italian  army, 


THE  RISE  OF  VITTORIO        131 

and  a  well-trained  lot  they  are.  You  and  I, 
Peter,  are  amateurs;  we  don't  enter  matches 
against  them  when  we  know  what  we  're 
about." 

"  He  did  n't  tell  me  nothin*  about  bein*  a 
sharpshooter,"  said  Peter,  sulkily.  "He  said 
he  learned  in  Africa." 

"Africa?"  Mr.  Harry  echoed.  "Did  you 
go  through  the  campaign  in  Abyssinia, 
Vittorio?" 

The  man  nodded. 

"Surely   not   at  Adowa?" 

A  quick  shadow  crossed  his  face. 

"Si,  signore,"  he  said,  simply;  "I  fight  at 
Adowa." 

"Good  heavens!"  Mr.  Harry  cried.  "The 
fellow's  fought  against  Menelik  and  the  der 
vishes."  He  faced  the  other  three,  his  hand 
on  Vittorio's  shoulder. 

"  You  don't  know  what  that  means  ?  You 
never  heard  of  Adowa  ?  It  means  that  this  chap 
here  has  been  through  the  fiercest  battle  ever 


i32      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

fought  on  African  soil.  He  was  beaten  —  the 
odds  against  him  were  too  heavy  —  but  it  was 
one  of  the  bravest  defeats  in  history.  The 
Italians  for  three  days  had  been  marching 
across  burning  deserts  in  a  hostile  country,  on 
half  rations,  and  with  almost  no  water.  At 
the  end  of  that  time  they  accomplished  a  forced 
march  of  twenty  miles  by  night,  across  hills 
and  ravines  so  rough  that  the  cannon  had 
frequently  to  be  carried  by  hand.  Then,  as 
they  were,  worn  out  and  hungry,  hopeless  as 
to  the  outcome,  they  were  asked  to  face  an 
enemy  six  times  larger  than  themselves  —  not 
a  civilized  enemy,  mind  you,  but  howling 
dervishes  —  and  they  did  it  without  flinching. 
There  's  not  a  man  who  went  through  Adowa 
but  came  out  a  hero." 

Vittorio  had  watched  his  face;  here  and 
there  he  had  caught  a  word.  He  suddenly 
threw  out  his  arms  in  a  spasm  of  excitement, 
his  eyes  blazing  at  the  memory  of  the  fight. 

"Dat  's  right!  Menelik  bad  king  —  bad  war. 


THE  RISE  OF  VITTORIO         133 

No  like-a  dose  peoples  —  me.  I  shoot-a  fast 
like  dis."  He  snatched  up  the  rifle  and 
crouched  behind  a  rock;  in  pantomime  he 
killed  a  dozen  of  the  foe  in  as  many  seconds. 
He  threw  the  rifle  away  and  sprang  to  his  feet. 
"Not  enough  cartridges!  No  can  shoot-a  more. 
Den  I  get-a  wound ;  lie  like-a  dis."  He  dropped 
his  arms  and  drooped  his  head.  "How  you 
say  ?  Tired  ?  Yes,  ver'  tired  like-a  baby. 
Santissima  Virginel  No  can  move,  I  bleed 
so  moch.  Sun  ver'  hot  —  no  water  —  ver' 
t'irsty.  Den  come-a  dose  peoples.  Dey  cut-a 
me  up." 

He  tore  open  his  shirt.  A  broad  scar 
extended  from  his  shoulder  across  his  breast. 
He  lifted  his  hair  and  showed  a  scar  behind 
his  ear,  another  on  his  forehead. 

"Si,  signore,  all  over  my  body  dey  cut-a 
me  up!" 

Mr.  Harry  frowned. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know.  It  was  terrible!  You 
put  up  a  great  fight,  Vittorio  —  sorry  you 


134      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

did  n't  do  for  'em.  You  are  brave  chaps,  you 
Italians.  It 's  a  great  thing  to  have  gone 
through  Adowa,  something  to  be  proud  of  all 
your  life.  I  am  glad  to  know  you  were  there." 
He  glanced  at  Peter  sharply,  then  nodded  and 
turned  away. 

Peter  studied  Vittorio,  a  new  look  in  his  eyes. 
The  man's  momentary  excitement  had  van 
ished;  he  was  his  old,  placid,  sunny  self  again. 

"I  guess  we  made  a  mistake,"  said  Peter, 
and  he  held  out  his  hand. 

Vittorio  obligingly  shook  it,  since  that  seemed 
to  be  expected,  but  he  did  it  with  smiling  uncom- 
prehension.  He  had  never  known  that  he  had 
been  insulted,  and  he  did  not  realize  that 
amends  were  necessary.  A  pause  followed 
while  the  three  men  gazed  at  Vittorio,  and 
Vittorio  gazed  at  the  sun,  slanting  toward  the 
western  horizon. 

"Six  'clock!"  he  exclaimed,  coming  to  a 
sudden  realization  that  duty  called.  "I  go 
water  flower."  He  shouldered  his  hoe  and 


THE  RISE  OF  VITTORIO         135 

turned  away,  but  paused  to  add,  his  eyes  wist 
fully  on  the  rifle:  "You  let-a  me  shoot  some 
ovver  day  ?  Sank  you.  Goo'-bye." 

Peter  looked  after  him  and  shook  his  head. 

"An*  to  think  he  's  a  Dago!  I  s'pose  if  ye 
could  understand  what  they  was  jabberin* 
about,  half  the  time,  ye  'd  find  they  was  talkin' 
as  sensible  as  anybody  else.  'T  is  funny,*'  he 
mused,  "how  much  people  is  alike,  no  matter 
what  country  they  comes  from."  He  picked 
up  the  rifle  and  stuffed  the  cartridges  into  his 
pocket.  "Get  a  move  on  ye,  Billy.  'T  is  time 
we  was  feedin*  them  horses." 


HELD  FOR  RANSOM 


VI 

HELD    FOR    RANSOM 

PETER,  from  being  a  care-free,  irrespon 
sible  young  groom,  suddenly  found  him 
self  beset  with  many  and  multiform  anxieties. 
It  commenced  with  Joe's  falling  through  the 
trap-door  in  the  ice-house  and  breaking  his  leg. 
While  he  was  in  the  hospital  impatiently  re 
covering,  Peter  was  put  in  command  of  the 
stables.  The  accident  happened  only  a  short 
time  after  the  burning  of  the  waggon-shed,  and 
Peter  was  determined  to  retrieve  his  good  name 
in  Mr.  Carter's  sight.  The  axle  grease  episode 
remained  a  black  spot  in  his  career.  The 
three  Brainard  boys  were  still  at  Willowbrook, 
but  their  visit  was  to  come  to  an  end  in  a  week, 
and  in  the  meantime  they,  too,  were  in  a  chas 
tened  mood.  Peter  marked  out  a  diamond  in 

139 


I4o      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

the  lower  meadow,  and  with  infinite  relief  saw 
them  devote  themselves  to  the  innocent  pursuit 
of  base-ball.  If  their  enthusiasm  could  only 
be  made  to  last  out  the  week,  he  felt  that  the 
waggon-shed  would  be  cheap  at  the  price. 

But  though  the  boys  were  providentially 
quiescent,  Peter's  private  affairs  were  not 
moving  so  smoothly.  He  had  another  reason 
besides  mere  ambition  for  wishing  to  prove 
himself  capable  of  taking  command  in  that 
uncertain  future  when  Joe  should  resign. 
Heretofore,  the  prospect  of  being  coachman, 
absolute  ruler  of  three  grooms  and  two  stable- 
boys,  had  been  sufficient  goal  in  itself;  but  of 
late,  visions  of  the  coachman's  cottage,  vine- 
covered,  with  a  gay  little  garden  in  front,  and 
Annie  sewing  on  the  porch,  had  supplanted  the 
old  picture  of  himself  haughtily  ordering  about 
his  five  underlings.  He  had  not,  however, 
ventured  to  suggest  this  dream  to  Annie.  His 
usual  daring  impudence,  which  had  endeared 
him  to  her  predecessors,  seemed  to  have  de- 


HELD  FOR  RANSOM  141 

serted  him,  and  he  became  tongue-tied  in  her 
presence.  Peter  had  been  possessed  before 
by  many  errant  fancies,  but  never  by  an  ob 
session  such  as  this.  He  went  about  his  work 
blind  to  everything  but  the  memory  of  her 
face.  When  he  peered  into  the  oat-bin  it  was 
Annie  that  he  saw;  she  smiled  back  at  him 
from  the  polished  sides  of  the  mail  phaeton 
and  the  bottom  of  every  bucket  of  water. 
She  made  him  happy  and  miserable,  exultant 
and  fearful,  all  at  once.  Poor  badgered  Peter 
knew  now  what  it  felt  like  to  be  a  brook-trout 
when  a  skilful  angler  is  managing  the  reel. 

This  alternate  hope  and  fear  was  sufficiently 
upsetting  for  one  whose  whole  mind  should 
have  been  upon  his  duties,  but  it  was  nothing  to 
the  state  that  followed.  Their  quarrel  fell 
from  a  clear  sky.  He  had  taken  her,  one  Sun 
day  afternoon,  to  a  popular  amusement  resort, 
a  trolley  ride's  distance  from  Willowbrook, 
and  had  suggested  refreshments  in  a  place  he 
remembered  from  the  year  before.  It  was 


1 42       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

called  the  "Heart  of  Asia,"  and  represented, 
so  the  man  with  the  megaphone  announced, 
the  harem  of  a  native  prince.  The  room  was 
hung  with  vivid  draperies  of  gold  and  crimson, 
and  dimly  lighted  by  coloured  lanterns  sus 
pended  from  the  ceiling.  The  refreshments 
were  served  by  maidens  billed  as  "Circassian 
Beauties,"  but  whose  speech  betrayed  a  Celtic 
origin. 

Peter  picked  out  a  secluded  table  and  or 
dered  striped  ice-cream.  He  had  thought  the 
place  particularly  conducive  to  romance,  but 
Annie  was  too  excited  over  her  first  introduction 
to  the  glamour  of  the  East  to  give  attention  to 
anything  but  her  surroundings. 

"Ain't  she  wonderful  ?"  Annie  whispered, 
as  a  Circassian  Beauty,  in  green  and  gold, 
trailed  across  her  field  of  vision. 

Peter  shrugged  in  blase,  man-of-the-world 
fashion. 

'T  is  the  paint  an*  powder  an*  clothes  an* 
lights,"  he  said  sceptically.     "Out  in  the  day- 


HELD  FOR  RANSOM  143 

light,  with  her  own  clothes  on,  she  would  n't 
look  so  different  from  you." 

This  was  not  a  strictly  politic  rejoinder,  but 
he  meant  it  well,  and  for  the  moment  Annie 
was  too  dazzled  to  be  in  a  carping  mood.  The 
gorgeous  creature  drew  near,  and  set  their  ice 
cream  upon  the  table.  She  was  turning  away, 
after  a  casual  glance  to  make  sure  that  they 
had  spoons  and  ice-water  and  paper  napkins, 
when  her  eyes  lighted  upon  Peter.  Her  second 
glance  was  not  so  casual;  it  lingered  for  a  mo 
ment  on  his  face.  Peter  had  never  visited  the 
place  but  once  in  his  life,  and  that  the  summer 
before,  when  he  had  spent  an  inconsequential 
half  hour  in  chaffing  the  girl  who  served  him. 
The  incident  had  completely  faded  from  his 
mind;  but  the  girl  had  a  diabolical  memory 
and  a  love  of  mischief. 

"  Hello,  Peter  Malone !"  she  laughed.  "  You 
have  n't  been  around  much  lately.  I  guess 
you  don't  care  for  me  any  more." 

Peter's  face  —  for  no  reason  on  earth  but 


I44      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

that  he  felt  Annie's  questioning  eyes  upon  him 
—  took  on  a  lively  red.  Annie  transferred 
her  gaze  and  studied  the  Circassian  Beauty  at 
close  range.  After  some  further  reminiscences, 
audaciously  expansive  on  her  part,  gruffly 
monosyllabic  on  Peter's,  the  girl  withdrew 
with  a  farewell  laugh  over  her  shoulder;  and 
Annie's  eyes  returned  to  Peter,  an  ominous 
sparkle  in  their  depths. 

"  I  've  had  all  I  want  o*  this  place,"  she 
observed,  pushing  away  her  dish  of  ice-cream. 

Peter  followed  her  outside,  aware  of  a  chilly 
change  in  the  atmosphere.  He  anxiously  ven 
tured  on  an  explanation,  but  the  more  he 
explained,  the  more  undue  prominence  the 
incident  acquired. 

"Ye  need  n't  be  apologizing"  said  Annie, 
in  an  entirely  friendly  tone.  "Ye  've  got  a 
perfect  right  to  go  anywhere  ye  please,  an* 
know  anyone  ye  please.  It 's  none  o*  my 
business." 

She  bade  him  good-night  with  an  air  of  cheer- 


HELD  FOR  RANSOM  145 

ful  aloofness,  thanking  him  politely  for  an  "  in- 
terestin*  afternoon."  Her  manner  suggested 
that  there  was  nothing  to  quarrel  about;  she 
had  been  mistaken  in  her  estimate  of  Peter, 
but  that  was  not  his  fault;  in  the  future  she  would 
be  more  clear-seeing.  This  wholly  reasonable 
attitude  failed  to  put  Peter  at  his  ease.  He 
passed  a  wakeful  night,  divided  between  pro 
fanity  when  he  thought  of  the  Circassian 
Beauty,  and  anxiety  when  he  thought  of  Annie. 

In   the   morning  the   plot  thickened. 

A  fourth  youngster  was  spending  a  few  days 
at  Willowbrook  —  another  Brainard,  cousin  to 
the  three  who  were  already  there;  but,  prov 
identially,  he  was  only  thirteen  months  old, 
and  had  not  learned  to  walk.  Peter  accepted 
the  arrival  without  concern,  never  dreaming 
that  this  young  gentleman's  presence  could 
in  any  degree  affect  his  own  peace  of  mind. 
The  baby,  however,  had  lost  his  nurse,  and 
while  they  were  searching  a  new  one  Annie 
volunteered  to  act  as  substitute.  The  morning 


146      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

after  her  visit  to  the  Heart  of  Asia  saw  her 
ensconced  on  a  rustic  bench  under  an  apple 
tree  on  the  lawn,  the  perambulator  at  her  side* 
The  tree  was  secluded  from  the  house  by  a 
mass  of  shrubbery,  but  was  plainly  visible 
from  the  stables.  It  was  also  closely  adjacent 
to  the  grounds  of  Jasper  Place,  and  this  morn 
ing,  by  a  fortuitous  circumstance,  Vittorio  was 
clipping  the  hedge. 

It  had  never  entered  Peter's  mind  to  regard 
Vittorio  as  a  possible  rival;  but  now  it  suddenly 
occurred  to  him  that  the  man  was  good  looking 
—  not  according  to  his  own  ideals,  but  in  a 
theatrical,  exotic  fashion,  sure  to  catch  a 
woman's  eye.  It  also  occurred  to  him  that 
Vittorio's  conversation  was  diverting  —  again 
from  a  woman's  point  of  view.  There  was 
something  piquant  in  the  spectacle  of  a  broad- 
shouldered,  full-grown  man  conversing  in  the 
baby  accents  of  a  child  of  three.  Peter  went 
about  his  work  that  day,  bitterly  aware  of  the 
by-play  going  on  under  the  apple  tree.  Annie 


HELD  FOR  RANSOM  147 

had  undertaken  the  task  of  teaching  Vittorio 
English,  and  the  lessons  were  punctuated  by 
the  clear  ring  of  her  merry  laugh. 

In  the  evening  the  man  was  enticed  to  the 
back  veranda,  where  he  sat  on  the  top  step 
singing  serenades  to  his  own  accompaniment 
on  the  mandolin;  while  the  maids  listened  in 
rapt  delight.  Even  Miss  Ethel  added  her  ap 
plause;  overhearing  the  music,  she  haled  Vit 
torio  and  his  mandolin  and  Italian  love  songs 
to  the  front  veranda  to  entertain  her  guests. 
Peter,  who  had  never  been  invited  to  entertain 
Miss  Ethel's  guests,  swallowed  this  latest 
triumph  with  what  grace  he  might.  The 
irony  of  the  matter  was  that  it  had  been  Peter 
himself  who  had  first  rescued  Vittorio  from 
social  obscurity,  and  who  had  insisted  to  the 
other  sceptical  ones  that  the  man  was  "all 
right,"  in  spite  of  the  misfortune  of  having 
been  born  in  Italy  instead  of  in  Ireland.  He 
had  not  hoped  to  be  taken  so  completely  at 
his  word. 


148       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

In  this  sympathetic  atmosphere  Vittorio  ex 
panded  like  a  flower  in  the  sunlight.  He  had 
suddenly  become  a  social  lion.  His  funny 
sayings  were  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth, 
and  everybody  on  the  place  commenced  con 
versing  in  Italian-English. 

"Eh,  Petal"  Billy  hailed  him  one  afternoon, 
"Mees  Effel,  she  want-a  go  ride.  She  want-a 
you  go  too.  I  saddle  dose  horsa  ?" 

"Aw,  let  up!"  Peter  growled.  "We  hears 
enough  Dago  talk  without  them  as  knows 
decent  English  havin'  to  make  fools  o'  their- 
selves." 

While  Peter's  private  troubles  were  thus 
heavy  upon  him,  his  official  responsibility  in 
creased.  Mr.  Carter  was  called  away  on  busi 
ness.  On  the  morning  of  the  departure,  as 
they  were  starting  for  the  station,  Miss  Ethel 
ran  after  them  with  a  forgotten  umbrella. 
"Take  care  of  yourself,  dad!"  She  kissed  him 
good-bye,  and  stood  on  the  veranda  waving  her 
handkerchief  until  the  carriage  was  out  of  sight. 


HELD  FOR  RANSOM  149 

Mr.  Carter  settled  himself  against  the  cushions 
with  a  sigh. 

"  What  a  world  this  would  be  without  women 1" 
he  murmured. 

"Yes,  sir,"  Peter  agreed  gloomily,  "-an*, 
beggin'  yer  pardon,  what  a  hell  of  a  world  it 
is  with  'em,  sir." 

The  following  few  days  strengthened  this 
opinion.  Vittorio's  education  progressed,  while 
Annie  still  maintained  her  attitude  of  superior 
aloofness.  Her  manner  was  friendly  —  exactly 
as  friendly  to  Peter  as  to  any  of  the  other  men. 
The  intangibility  of  the  quarrel  was  what  made 
it  hardest  to  bear.  Could  he  have  punched 
some  one  it  would  have  eased  his  mind,  but 
in  all  fairness  he  was  forced  to  acknowl 
edge  that  the  "Dago"  was  not  to  blame. 
The  advances  were  blatantly  from  Annie's 
side. 

In  the  meantime,  however,  a  new  compli 
cation  had  developed,  which  acted  in  a  measure 
as  a  counter  irritant.  Mr.  Carter's  train  was 


150      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

barely  out  of  hearing,  when  the  most  extra 
ordinary  amount  of  petty  thieving  commenced. 
Nothing  could  be  laid  down  anywhere  about 
the  place  but  that  it  immediately  disappeared. 
There  had  been  a  number  of  Armenian  women 
in  the  neighbourhood  selling  lace,  and  Peter 
would  have  suspected  these  had  not  the  list 
of  stolen  articles  been  so  unusual.  It  com 
prised  the  clothes-line,  half  a  dozen  sheets 
and  the  wash-boiler,  six  jars  of  jam  from  the 
cellar,  and  some  bread  and  cake  from  the  pan 
try  window,  a  bundle  of  stakes  for  training 
the  tomato  plants,  and  Master  Wallace's  spell 
ing  book  (he  was  having  to  study  through 
vacation,  and  he  bore  the  loss  with  composure), 
a  Japanese  umbrella-holder  from  the  front 
veranda,  a  pair  of  lap-robes  from  the  stable, 
and  last,  most  uncanny  touch  of  all,  the  family 
Bible!  This  had  stood  on  the  under  shelf  of 
the  table  in  the  library  window,  where  it  could 
be  reached  easily  from  the  outside;  but,  as 
Peter  dazedly  inquired  of  the  world  in  general, 


HELD  FOR  RANSOM  151 

"Why  the  divvil  should  anyone  be  wantin* 
to  take  a  Bible  ?  It  can't  do  him  no  good  when 
it  *s  stolen." 

It  was  Annie  who  had  discovered  this  last 
depredation  in  the  course  of  her  daily  dusting. 
As  yet  the  family  had  not  noticed  the  loss  of 
any  of  the  articles,  and  Peter,  fearing  that  the 
matter  might  reflect  upon  his  own  generalship, 
had  hesitated  about  reporting  it;  none  of  the 
things  were  very  valuable,  and  he  had  daily 
expected  to  find  the  thief.  The  boys  knew, 
however,  and  took  an  open  delight  in  the  sit 
uation.  Anything  approaching  a  mystery  was 
food  and  drink  to  them.  They  abandoned 
base-ball,  and  gave  themselves  over  entirely  to 
a  consideration  of  the  puzzle. 

The  day  the  lap-robes  disappeared,  they 
were  gathered  in  a  group  outside  the  stable, 
Peter  tipped  back  in  an  old  armchair  pulling 
furiously  at  his  pipe,  with  a  double  frown  the 
length  of  his  brow,  the  four  boys  occupying 
the  bench  in  an  excited,  chattering  row. 


152      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"Perhaps  the  place  is  haunted!"  Master 
Jerome  put  forth  the  suggestion  with  wide  eyes. 

"Haunted  nothin',"  Peter  growled.  "It  was 
a  pretty  live  ghost  that  got  off  with  them  lap- 
robes  durin*  the  two  minutes  the  stable  was 
empty." 

"They  were  the  old  ones,"  Bobby  consoled 
him.  "At  least  it  was  kind  of  him  not  to  take 
the  best  ones  when  they  were  just  as  convenient." 

"Do  you  fink  it's  gypsies?"  Master  Au 
gustus  asked  the  question  with  a  fearful  glance 
over  his  shoulder.  He  had  been  told  that 
gypsies  carried  off  bad  little  boys. 

"I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  Peter  said  sul 
lenly,  "  but  if  I  ever  ketches  anybody  snooping 
about  this  place  who  has  no  business  to  snoop 
The  sentence  ended  in  a  threatening 
silence. 

The  four  boys  looked  at  one  another  and 
shuddered  delightedly. 

"  It 's  like  a  book,"  Master  Wallace  declared. 
"The  miscreant  has  foiled  us  at  every  turn." 


HELD  FOR  RANSOM  153 

"Let's  form  a  detective  bureau!"  Bobby 
rose  to  the  occasion.  "You  can  be  chief  of 
the  local  police,  Peter.  And  since  you  find  the 
mystery  beyond  your  power  to  solve,  you  have 
called  to  your  aid  a  private  detective  force  — 
that's  us.  Jerome  and  Wallace  and  me  can  be 
detectives,  and  Augustus  can  be  a  policeman." 

"I  want  to  be  a  detective,  too,"  objected 
Augustus. 

"  It 's  nice  to  be  a  policeman,"  soothed 
Bobby.  "  When  we  've  tracked  down  the  thief, 
we  '11  call  to  you  and  say,  '  Officer,  handcuff 
this  man!'  and  you  '11  snap  'em  on  his  wrist 
and  lead  him  to  jail." 

"All  right!"  agreed  Augustus.  "Give  'em 
to  me." 

"Later,  when  we  yre  on  his  track,"  said 
Bobby.  "Now,  Peter,  you  ought  to  plan  a 
campaign.  'Course,  you  are  n't  expected  to 
find  out  anything,  the  local  police  never  do; 
but  nominally  we  're  under  your  orders,  so 
you  must  tell  us  to  shadow  some  one." 


154       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

Peter  had  been  staring  into  space  only  half  at 
tending  to  their  prattle.  Bobby  jogged  his  elbow. 

"  Pay  attention,  Peter !  We  're  waiting  for 
orders.  You  ought  to  detail  two  plain-clothes 
men  to  watch  the  gates,  and  I  think  it  would 
be  well  to  shadow  Vittorio.  He's  a  foreigner, 
you  know;  maybe  he  b'longs  to  the  Black 
Hand.  I  should  n't  wonder  if  he  was  planning 
to  blow  up  the  stables.  Only,"  he  added, 
as  an  afterthought,  "  it 's  sort  of  hard  shadow 
ing  a  man  who  stands  by  the  hedge  all  day 
talking  to  Annie." 

Peter's  frown  darkened  as  his  gaze  sought 
the  rustic  bench  under  the  apple  tree.  He  had 
little  spirit  left  for  the  boys'  diversions,  but  he 
roused  himself  to  say: 

"  I  '11  turn  the  details  o'  the  case  over  to  you, 
Master  Bobby.  Guard  the  gates,  an'  shadow 
anyone  that  seems  suspicious.  I'm  drivin' 
Joe's  wife  to  the  hospital  this  afternoon;  ye 
can  report  at  six  o'clock,  when  I  gets  back." 

The  four  rose  and  saluted;  they  held  a  whis- 


HELD  FOR  RANSOM  155 

pered  consultation,  and  crept  warily  away  in 
different  directions.  Peter  watched  them  out 
of  sight  with  a  wan  smile,  then  turned  inside  to 
hitch  up.  The  ladies  of  the  family  were  spend 
ing  the  day  in  the  city  on  a  midsummer 
shopping  expedition,  so  he  had  no  fear  of  any 
demands  issuing  from  the  house.  He  called  the 
under-groom,  gave  him  strict  orders  not  to 
leave  the  stables  alone  a  minute,  and  drove 
on  to  the  cottage  to  pick  up  Joe's  wife.  She 
packed  a  basket  for  the  invalid  into  the  back 
of  the  cart,  and  climbed  up  beside  Peter. 

"  I  'm  fetching  him  out  something  to  eat," 
she  explained.  "They  don't  give  him  nourish 
ment  enough  for  a  kitten.  A  man  of  Joe's  size 
can't  keep  up  his  strength  on  beef  tea  and  soft- 
boiled  eggs." 

As  they  drove  through  the  gate,  a  small  fig 
ure  sprang  out  from  the  bushes  in  front  of  the 
astonished  Trixy's  head. 

"  I  'm  sorry  to  detain  you,"  said  Bobby,  with 
dignified  aloofness  —  his  expression  suggested 


156      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

that  he  had  never  seen  Peter  before  —  "  but 
my  orders  are  to  search  every  person  leaving 
the  premises/* 

"Lord  love  you,  Master  Bobby!  What  are 
you  playing  at  now  ?"  inquired  Joe's  wife 
with  wide-eyed  amazement, 

"  I  am  Robert  Carter,  of  the  Secret  Service," 
said  Bobby,  icily,  as  he  walked  to  the  rear  of 
the  buckboard  and  commenced  his  search. 
"Ha!  What  is  this?"  He  raised  the  towel 
that  covered  the  basket  and  suspiciously  peered 
inside.  It  contained  two  pies,  a  quantity  of 
doughnuts,  and  a  jar  of  cherry  preserves. 
"  Madam,  may  I  ask  where  you  obtained  these 
articles  ?"  His  manner  was  so  stern  that  she 
stammered  her  reply  with  an  air  of  convicted 
guilt. 

"I  —  I  made  them  myself.  They  're  for 
Joe  in  the  hospital." 

"H'm!"  said  Bobby.  "As  they  are  for  char 
itable  purposes,  I  will  not  confiscate  the  entire 
lot."  He  gravely  abstracted  two  of  the  most 


HELD  FOR  RANSOM  157 

sugary  doughnuts  and  transferred  them  to  his 
pocket.  "These  will  be  sufficient  to  exhibit 
at  headquarters  with  a  description  of  the  rest. 
Please  favour  me  with  your  names  and  ad 
dresses." 

Feter  complied  in  all  seriousness.  Evidently, 
his  was  a  case  of  dual  personality;  he  represented 
the  local  police  only  when  he  was  not  acting 
as  coachman.  He  drove  on  with  an  amused 
grin.  After  all,  the  boys  and  their  escapades 
added  to  the  dull  routine  of  daily  life  a  spice 
of  adventure  which  most  twentieth  century 
households  lacked;  the  entertainment  they 
furnished  paid  for  the  trouble  they  caused. 

Three  hours  later  Peter  set  down  Joe's  wife 
at  the  door  of  the  cottage  and  drove  on  to  the 
stables.  As  he  rounded  the  corner,  he  perceived 
an  excited  group  gathered  under  the  apple 
tree  where  he  had  left  Annie  and  her  kinder 
garten  class. 

"There  he  is!"  cried  Nora.  "Peter!  Come 
here  quick." 


158      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

Peter  threw  the  lines  to  an  adjacent  groom  — 
the  one  who  had  been  told  not  to  leave  the 
stables  —  and  hurriedly  joined  the  circle.  He 
found  Annie  collapsed  on  her  bench  beside  the 
baby-carriage,  rocking  back  and  forth,  and 
sobbing  convulsively,  while  the  other  servants 
crowded  about  her. 

"What 's  the  matter  ?"  he  gasped. 

"They've  stolen  the  baby!"  Annie  wailed. 

Peter  felt  a  cold  chill  run  up  his  back  as  he 
peered  into  the  empty  carriage.  For  a  moment 
he  was  silent,  struggling  to  grasp  the  full  horror 
of  the  fact;  then  he  laid  a  hand,  none  too  lightly, 
on  Annie's  shoulder,  and  shook  her  into  a  state 
of  coherence. 

"  Stop  yer  noise  an'  tell  me  when  it  happened." 

"Just  now!  Just  a  few  minutes  ago.  The 
baby  was  asleep,  an'  Vittorio,  he  had  some 
new  flowers  in  the  farther  bed,  an'  he  wanted 
me  to  tell  him  their  name.  I  was  n't  gone 
more'n  five  minutes,  an*  when  I  come  back  I 
peeked  in  to  see  if  the  baby  was  all  right,  an*  the 


HELD  FOR  RANSOM  159 

carriage  was  empty !  We  Ve  hunted  everywhere. 
He  's  gone  —  stolen  just  like  the  lap-robes." 

Annie  buried  her  head  in  her  arms  and  com 
menced  sobbing  anew.  Peter's  face  reflected 
the  blankness  of  the  others. 

"Lord!  This  is  awful!  What  will  its  mother 
be  sayin'  ?" 

Annie's  sobs  increased  at  this  agonizing 
thought. 

"  It's  them  Armenian-lace  women,"  Nora  put 
in.  "  Master  Bobby  says  they  're  gypsies, 
and  are  always  stealing  babies  and  holding  them 
for  ransom." 

"  Have  n't  ye  done  anything  ?"  he  cried. 
"Did  n't  ye  telephone  for  the  p'lice  ?" 

"  Master  Bobby  would  n't  let  us.  He  says 
the  local  police  are  blind  as  bats  and  what  we 
need  are  detectives.  An'  above  all,  he  says, 
we  must  not  let  it  get  into  the  papers;  his  father 
is  awful  mad  when  anything  gets  into  the  papers. 
Leave  it  to  him,  he  says,  and  he  'li  have  the 
gypsies  shadowed." 


160      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"This  ain't  no  time  for  play,"  growled  Peter, 
whirling  toward  the  house  and  the  telephone. 
"What's  that  ?"  He  stopped  as  his  eye  lighted 
upon  a  vivid  sheet  of  paper  lying  on  the  ground. 

"It  was  pinned  to  the  p-pillow,"  Annie 
sobbed. 

Peter  snatched  it  up  and  stared  for  a  moment 
in  blank  amazement.  The  words  were  printed  in 
staggering  characters,  a  bright  vermilion  in  tone. 

PL  Ac  E  TE  *  THOOS.A*  Po«eBto»nj 
U  GoLp  i-vTME    HotLo 


SUN    RlSe     AMD 

BARY  SMALL    8e 

o       FAIL 

VVb  AlT.    NEVER, 
H  I  /v\    A  ^  E  N!  | 


A  flash  of  illumination  swept  over  Peter's  face. 

There  was  an  old  barn  at  the  end  of  the  lane 

that   had   been   moved    back   when   the    new 


HELD  FOR  RANSOM  161 

stables  were  built.  A  few  days  before,  Peter, 
himself  unobserved,  had  seen  Wallace  knock 
three  times  on  the  door,  and  had  heard  a  voice 
from  inside  respond: 

"  Who  goes  there  ?" 

"A  friend,"  said  Wallace. 

"Give  the  countersign." 

"Blood!" 

"Pass  in,"  said  the  voice. 

The  door  had  opened  six  inches  while  Wal 
lace  squeezed  through.  Peter  had  supposed 
it  merely  their  latest  play,  unintelligible  but 
harmless;  now,  however,  he  commenced  putting 
two  and  two  together.  Evidently,  his  was  not 
the  only  case  of  dual  personality. 

"Gee!  I  'm  a  fool  not  to  have  thought 
of  it,"  he  muttered. 

"Oh,  Pete!"  Annie  implored.  "Do  you 
know  where  he  is  ?" 

Peter  controlled  his  features  and  gravely 
shook  his  head. 

"I  can't  say  as  I  do,  exactly,  but  this  here 


i6z      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

paper  furnishes  a  clue.  I  think  p'raps  I  can 
find  the  baby  without  calling  in  the  p'lice." 
He  faced  the  others.  "Go  back  to  the  house 
and  watch  out  that  none  o'  them  gypsy  women 
comes  prowlin'  around."  He  waited  until 
they  were  out  of  hearing,  then  he  sat  down  on 
the  bench  by  Annie.  "I'll  find  the  kid  on 
just  one  condition  —  ye  're  to  let  that  Dago 
alone.  D'  ye  understand  ?" 

"Get  the  baby,  hurry  —  please!  I'll  talk 
to  you  afterward." 

"I  think  I  '11  be  talkin*  just  a  second  now. 
Ye  know  well  enough  I  never  had  nothin*  to 
do  with  that  Circassian  Beauty  girl." 

"Yes,  yes,  Pete!  I  believe  you.  I  know 
you  did  n't.  Please  go." 

"Stop  thinkin'  o'  the  kid  a  minute  an'  listen 
to  me."  He  reached  over  and  grasped  her 
firmly  by  the  wrist.  "If  I  fetches  him  back 
without  no  hurt  before  his  mother  gets  home, 
will  everything  be  just  the  same  between  us  as 
before  I  took  ye  to  that  infernal  Heart  of  Asia  ?" 


HELD  FOR  RANSOM  163 

"Yes,  Pete,  honest  —  I  promise."  Her  lips 
trembled  momentarily  into  a  smile.  "I  knew 
you  did  n't  have  nothing  to  do  with  her.  I 
just  wanted  to  make  you  mad." 

His  grasp  tightened. 

"Ye  succeeded  all  right." 

"Ow,  Pete,  let  me  go!     You  hurt." 

He  dropped  her  wrist  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Mind,  now,  this  is  on  the  straight.  I  finds 
the  kid  an'  we  5re  friends  again." 

She  nodded  and  smiled  into  his  eyes.  Peter 
smiled  back,  and  swung  off,  whistling,  down 
the  lane.  A  rustling  behind  the  hedge,  and 
a  scampering  of  feet,  warned  him  that  the 
enemy  had  posted  scouts.  He  stilled  his 
whistle  and  approached  the  old  barn  warily. 
It  presented  a  blank  face  when  he  arrived; 
the  door  was  shut  and  locked.  He  pounded 
three  times.  A  startled  movement  occurred 
inside,  but  no  challenge.  He  pounded  again, 
more  insistently,  pushing  with  his  shoulder 
until  there  was  the  sound  of  straining  timber. 


164      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

'Who  goes  there  ?  Give  the  countersign," 
issued  from  the  keyhole  in  Master  Augustus's 
tones. 

"Blood!"   said   Peter,  with  grim  emphasis. 

A  pause  followed,  during  which  he  kept  his 
ear  to  the  crack.  A  whispered  consultation 
was  going  on  inside,  then  presently,  a  small 
window  opened  and  Master  Augustus's  head 
appeared. 

"Oh,  Pete!  Is  dat  you?"  There  was  re 
lief  in  his  tone.  "Wait  a  minute  an'  I  '11  let 
you  in.  I  was  'fraid  it  was  gypsies." 

"Well,  it  ain't  gypsies;  it 's  the  local  p'lice 
on  the  track  o'  stolen  goods.  You  open  up  that 
door  an'  be  quick  about  it!" 

A  long  wait  ensued  while  Augustus  in 
effectually  fumbled  with  the  lock,  talking  mean 
while  to  Peter  in  as  loud  a  voice  as  possible 
to  drown  the  sound  of  movement  behind  him. 
The  door  was  finally  flung  wide,  and  Peter 
was  received  with  a  disarming  smile.  He 
stepped  inside  and  peered  about. 


HELD  FOR  RANSOM  165 

"Where  have  ye  hid  the  other  boys?*'  he 
demanded. 

"  I  'm  a  p'liceman,"  lisped  Augustus,  with 
engaging  inconsequence,  "stationed  here  to 
guard  de  lane.  I  fought  it  was  safest  to  keep 
de  door  locked  for  fear  some  more  gypsy 
people  might  come  along." 

"Where  's  the  ladder  gone  to  that  loft  ?" 

"  De  ladder  ?"  Augustus  raised  wide  in 
nocent  eyes  to  the  hole  in  the  ceiling.  "May 
be  de  same  person  stole  de  ladder  as  stole  de 
ovver  rings." 

"Maybe,"  Peter  assented  genially,  as  he 
squinted  up  through  the  opening. 

The  end  of  the  ladder  was  visible,  also  the 
end  of  a  rope-ladder,  easier  to  haul  up  in  emer 
gencies.  The  clothes-line  at  least  was  accounted 
for.  Peter  took  off  his  coat,  shoved  a  saw-horse 
under  the  opening,  and  sprang  and  caught 
the  edge  of  the  scuttle,  while  Augustus,  in  a 
frenzy  of  remonstrance,  danced  below  and 
shouted  warnings.  After  a  few  convulsive 


i66      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

kicks  Peter  swung  himself  up  and  sat  down  on 
the  edge  of  the  scuttle  to  get  his  breath,  while 
he  took  a  preliminary  survey  of  the  room. 
There  was  no  doubt  but  that  he  had  tracked 
the  robbers  to  their  den.  Opposite  him,  in 
letters  a  foot  high,  the  legend  sprawled  the 
length  of  the  wall : 


TOM  SAWYER'S  ROBBER  GANG 


As  his  eyes  roved  about  the  room  they  lit 
on  one  familiar  object  after  another.  The 
four  walls  were  hung  with  sheets;  two  pirate 
flags  of  black  broadcloth  (he  recognized  his 
lap-robes)  fluttered  overhead;  the  centre  of  the 
room  was  occupied  by  the  umbrella-stand, 
upside  down,  serving  as  a  pedestal  for  the  Bible, 
and  the  tomato  stakes,  made  into  cross  swords, 
decorated  the  walls.  The  booty  was  there,  but 
the  thieves  had  escaped.  A  second,  more 
thorough  examination,  however,  betrayed  in 
a  shadowy  corner,  a  slight  bulging  of  the  sheets, 


HELD  FOR  RANSOM  167 

while  sundry  legs  protruded  from  below.  Peter 
stalked  over,  and  laying  a  firm  grasp  on  the 
nearest  ankle,  plucked  out  Master  Wallace 
from  behind  the  arras.  He  set  the  boy  on 
his  feet  and  shook  him. 

"  What  have  ye  done  with  that  baby  ?" 

Wallace  dug  his  fists  into  his  eyes  and  com 
menced  to  whimper.  Peter  tried  another  cast, 
and  fetched  out  Master  Bobby. 

"Hello,  Pete!"  said  Bobby,  with  cheerful 
impudence. 

"You  cough  up  that  baby,"  said  Peter. 

"  He  's  in  the  wash-boiler."  Bobby  waved 
his  hand  airily  toward  the  opposite  end  of  the 
room. 

Peter,  still  grasping  Bobby's  collar  with  a 
touch  unpleasantly  firm,  strode  across  and 
raised  the  lid.  The  baby  was  sleeping  as 
peacefully  as  in  his  own  perambulator. 

"We  were  just  going  to  return  him  when 
you  came."  Bobby's  voice  contained  an  in 
creasing  note  of  anxiety.  "We  fed  him  and 


168      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

sterilized  his  milk  just  like  Annie  does.  He  's 
been  having  a  bully  time,  laughing  and  crowing 
co  oeat  me  o*ndL  He  likes  adventures.  It 's 
terribly  stupid  rymg  all  day  in  that  carriage; 
a  little  change  is  good  it/r  nb  health/* 

Peter  shook  his  captive.  "  Whaf  '5  the  mean- 
in*  o*  this  ?"  His  gesture  included  cnc  entire 
interior. 

"We  're  robbers,"  said  Bobby,  stanchly. 
"  I  *m  Huck  Finn,  the  Red-handed,  and  Jerome 's 
Tom  Sawyer,  the  Terror  of  the  Plains.  When 
we  saw  that  baby  left  alone  in  the  carriage, 
we  thought  we  ought  to  teach  Annie  a  lesson. 
We  meant  to  turn  into  detectives  pretty  soon 
and  raid  this  robber  den  and  take  the  baby 
back.  We  were  just  getting  ready  to  be 
detectives  when  you  came." 

"This  is  one  time  the  local  police  got  in  first," 
observed  Peter.  "  What 's  that  Bible  for  ?" 

"To  take  our  oaths  on." 

"Huh!  I  guess  yer  mother  will  be  havin* 
somethin*  to  say  to  that."  He  lowered  the 


HELD  FOR  RANSOM  169 

ladder  and  faced  the  robbers.  There  were 
three  by  this  time:  Jerome  had  emerged  of  his 
own  accord.  "  I  '11  take  the  baby  meself. 
Master  Bobby,  ye  follow  with  the  Bible;  Master 
Jerome,  ye  rip  the  skull  an*  bones  off  them 
lap-robes,  fold  'em  up  neat,  an*  put  'em  in  the 
closet  where  they  b'long.  I  '11  give  ye  just 
half  an  hour  to  break  up  this  gang  an'  return 
the  loot.  Master  Augustus!"  Peter  bellowed 
down  the  trap,  "fetch  four  pairs  o*  hand 
cuffs  an'  have  these  robbers  at  the  p'lice  station 
in  half  an  hour  to  hear  their  sentence." 

He  shouldered  the  baby  with  awkward  care, 
and  retraced  his  steps  toward  the  house.  Annie 
was  still  drooping  on  her  bench.  Peter 
approached  softly  from  behind. 

"Here  he  is  like  I  promised." 

"  Oh,  Pete !  Is  he  hurt  ?"  She  snatched  the 
child  from  his  arms  and  commenced  anxiously 
examining  his  limbs  for  injuries.  The  baby 
grabbed  her  hair  and  cooed.  She  covered 
him  with  kisses.  "Where  'd  you  find  him?" 


1 7o      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"  I  found  him  —  where  I  found  him,"  said 
Peter,  cannily,  "an*  don't  ye  be  leavin'  him 
alone  again." 

"I  won't!     I  can't  never  thank  you  enough." 

"Yes,  ye  can  —  by  not  flirtin'  with  that  Dago 
any  more." 

"I  wasn't  flirtin'  with  him;  he  don't  care 
nothin*  about  me.  All  he  wants  is  to  learn  to 
talk." 

Peter  looked  sceptical. 

"Honest,  Pete!  It's  the  livin'  truth.  I 
never  flirted  with  no  one,  except  —  maybe  you." 

Peter's  face  softened  momentarily,  but  it 
hardened  again  as  a  shadow  fell  between  them. 
Vittorio  was  standing  on  the  other  side  of  the 
hedge. 

"You  find-a  dat  baby?"  he  inquired  with 
an  all-inclusive  smile.  As  the  fact  was  self- 
evident,  nobody  answered.  Vittorio  was  a 
romantic  soul;  he  caught  the  breath  of  sentiment 
in  the  air.  "Annie  you  girl?"  he  inquired 
genially  of  Peter. 


HELD  FOR  RANSOM  171 

Peter  scowled  without  speaking. 

"I  got-a  girl  too,  name  Marietta.  Live-a 
Napoli.  Some  day  I  send-a  money,  she  come 
Americ';  marry  wif  me.  Nice  girl,  Marietta. 
Annie  nice  girl,  too,"  he  added,  as  a  polite 
afterthought.  "You  marry  wif  her?" 

Peter's  face  cleared. 

"Some  day,  Vittorio,  if  she  '11  be  havin*  me." 
He  stole  a  side  glance  at  Annie.  She  rose  with 
a  quick  flush. 

"Quit  your  foolin',  Pete!  'Tis  time  this 
baby  was  getting  his  supper.  Would  you 
mind  settin'  his  carriage  on  the  porch  ?  Good 
night,  Vittorio."  She  tucked  the  baby  under 
her  arm  and  started,  singing,  for  the  house. 

Peter  put  up  the  carriage  and  sauntered  to 
ward  the  stables  in  the  utmost  good  humour. 
He  found  Augustus  with  his  prisoners  drawn 
up  in  line,  their  wrists  and  ankles  shackled 
together. 

Augustus  saluted.  "I  caught  free  robbers." 
he  observed.  "De  ovver  one  'scaped." 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

Peter  drew  his  face  into  an  expression  of 
judicial  sternness.  "What  have  ye  got  to  say 
for  yourselves  ?"  he  growled. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  then  Jerome 
ventured:  "We're  going  away  in  three  days. 
I  should  n't  think  at  the  very  end  you  'd  want 
to  have  hard  feelings  between  us." 

"If  you  tell  mother,"  Bobby  added,  "you  '11 
get  Annie  into  an  awful  lot  of  trouble.  Annie's 
been  good  to  me.  I  'd  hate  to  have  her  get  a 
scolding." 

Peter  suppressed  a  grin. 

"Ten  years  at  solitary  confinement  is  what 
ye  deserve,"  he  announced,  "but  since  there  's 
extenuatin*  circumstances,  I  '11  let  ye  go  free 
on  parole  —  providin'  ye  play  base-ball  all  the 
rest  o'  the  time." 

"I  say,  Pete,  you  're  bully!" 

"It's  a  bargain,"  said  Peter.  "An'  mind 
ye  keep  to  it.  Officer,  set  free  the  prisoners." 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S 
UNDERSTUDY 


VII 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S  UNDERSTUDY 

WAIT  a  moment,  Peter,"  Miss  Ethel 
called  from  the  veranda,  as  he  was 
starting  for  the  village  with  the  daily  marketing 
list.  "I  want  you  to  drive  around  by  Red 
Towers  on  your  way  home  and  leave  this  note 
for  Mrs.  Booth-Higby." 

"Very  well,  Miss  Ethel."  Peter  reined  in 
Trixy  and  received  the  note  with  a  polite  pull 
at  his  hat  brim. 

"And,  Peter,  you  might  use  a  little  discretion. 
That  is  —  I  don't  want  her  to  know " 

"You  trust  me,  Miss  Ethel;  I'll  fix  it." 

Her  eyes  met  his  for  a  second  and  she  laughed. 
Peter's  face  also  relaxed  its  official  gravity  as 
he  pocketed  the  note  and  started  off.  He  under 
stood  well  the  inner  feelings  with  which  she 

«75 


176      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

had  penned  its  polite  phrases.  A  battle  had 
been  waging  in  the  Carter  family  on  the  sub 
ject  of  Mrs.  Booth-Higby,  and  the  presence  of 
the  invitation  in  Peter's  pocket  proved  that  Miss 
Ethel  was  vanquished. 

The  invitation  concerned  a  garden  party  to 
be  given  at  Willowbrook  on  the  evening  of  the 
fifteenth,  with  the  Daughters  of  the  Revolution 
as  guests  of  honour,  and  amateur  theatricals  as 
entertainment.  Peter  knew  all  about  it,  having 
arduously  assisted  the  village  carpenter  in  the 
construction  of  rocks,  boats,  wigwams,  log- 
cabins  and  primaeval  forests.  He  knew,  also, 
that  the  chief  attraction  of  the  evening  would  not 
be  the  theatricals,  but  rather  the  presence  of  a 
young  Irish  earl  who  was  visiting  Mr.  Harry 
Jasper.  Miss  Ethel  was  also  entertaining 
guests,  and  the  two  households  formed  an  ex 
clusive  party  among  themselves.  The  en 
tire  neighbourhood  was  agog  at  the  idea  of  a 
live  lord  in  their  midst,  but  so  far  no  one  had 
seen  him,  except  from  a  distance,  as  he  was 


WASHINGTON'S  UNDERSTUDY    177 

whirled  past  in  Mr.  Harry's  motor,  or  trailed 
across  the  golf  links  in  Miss  Ethel's  wake. 
She  was  planning  to  exhibit  him  publicly  on 
the  night  of  the  garden  party. 

The  question  of  invitations  had  been  diffi 
cult,  particularly  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Booth- 
Higby.  In  regard  to  this  lady  society  was 
divided  into  two  camps,  comprising  those  who 
received  her  and  those  who  did  not.  Miss 
Ethel  was  firm  in  her  adherence  to  those  who 
did  not,  but  her  father  and  mother  had  tacitly 
slipped  over  to  the  other  camp  —  Mr.  Carter 
being  a  corporation  lawyer,  and  Mr.  Booth- 
Higby  a  rising  financier.  Peter  likewise  knew 
all  about  this,  Mrs.  Carter  and  her  daughter 
having  discussed  the  matter  through  the  length 
of  a  seven-mile  drive,  while  he  sedulously  kept 
his  eyes  on  the  horses'  ears,  that  the  smile  which 
would  not  be  suppressed  might  at  least  be  un 
observed. 

Mrs.  Carter  had  maintained  that,  since  Mrs. 
Booth-Higby  was  a  member  of  the  Society,  not 


178      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

to  invite  her  would  be  too  open  a  slight.  Miss 
Ethel  had  replied  that  the  party  was  purely  a 
social  affair  —  she  could  invite  whom  she 
pleased  —  and  she  had  added  some  pointed 
details.  The  woman's  maiden  name,  as  every 
one  knew,  was  Maggie  McGarrah,  and  her 
father,  previous  to  his  political  career,  had 
kept  a  saloon;  she  was  odious,  pushing,  nouveau 
riche;  she  dyed  her  hair  and  pencilled  her  eye 
brows,  she  did  n't  have  a  thought  in  the  world 
beyond  clothes,  and  she  flirted  outrageously 
with  every  man  who  came  near.  Peter's 
smile  had  broadened  at  this  last  item.  It 
was,  he  shrewdly  suspected,  the  keynote  of 
the  trouble.  Miss  Ethel  had  caught  Mr. 
Harry  Jasper  paying  too  assiduous  attention 
to  Mrs.  Booth-Higby's  commands  on  the  occa 
sion  of  a  recent  polo  game. 

Peter  felt  that  when  Mrs.  Carter  and  her 
daughter  matched  wills,  the  result  was  pretty  even 
betting,  and  his  sporting  instincts  were  aroused. 
He  had  been  interested,  upon  delivering  the 


WASHINGTON'S  UNDERSTUDY    179 

invitations,  to  see  that  there  was  none  for  the 
Booth-Higbys;  and  now  his  interest  was 
doubly  keen  at  receiving  it  three  days  late. 
Miss  Ethel  had  succumbed  to  the  weight  of 
superior  argument. 

He  turned  in  between  the  ornate  gates 
of  Red  Towers  —  the  two  posts  surmounted  by 
lions  upholding  a  mythical  coat  of  arms  —  and 
drew  up  in  the  shadow  of  an  imposing  porte- 
cochere.  A  gay  group  of  ladies  and  gentlemen 
were  gathered  in  lounging  chairs  on  the  veranda, 
engaged  with  frosted  glasses  of  mint  julep; 
while  Mrs.  Booth-Higby  herself,  coifed  and 
gowned  as  for  an  evening  reception,  was 
standing  in  the  glass  doors  of  the  drawing- 
room.  As  her  gaze  fell  upon  Peter  she 
strolled  toward  him  with  a  voluminous  rustle 
of  draperies. 

"Whose  man  are  you?"  she  inquired,  with 
an  air  of  languid  condescension. 

Peter's  face  reddened  slightly.  The  entire 
group  had  ceased  their  conversation  to  stare. 


i8o      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"  Mr.  Jerome  Carter's,"  he  replied,  fumbling 
for  the  note. 

"Ah!"  said  Mrs.  Booth-Higby,  with  a  lifting 
of  the  eyebrows. 

"It  should  have  come  three  days  ago," 
Peter  glibly  lied.  "  Miss  Carter  give  me  a  lot 
o*  them  to  deliver;  this  one  must  have  slipped 
down  the  crack  between  the  cushions  an'  got 
overlooked.  We  come  across  it  this  mornin' 
when  we  was  washin'  the  buckboard,  so  I 
drove  over  with  it  on  me  way  home  from  the 
marketin'.  I  hope  that  it  ain't  important,  and 
that  ye  won't  feel  called  upon  to  tell  Miss  Carter  ? 
It  would  get  me  into  trouble,  ma'am." 

Her  face  had  cleared  slightly  during  this 
recital;  it  was  evident  that  she  knew  about  the 
garden  party,  and  had  entertained  emotions 
over  the  absence  of  her  own  invitation.  She 
saw  fit  now  to  work  off  her  stored-up  anger 
upon  the  delinquent.  Peter  knew  his  place, 
and  respectfully  swallowed  the  scolding,  but 
he  did  it  with  a  cordial  assent  to  Miss  Ethel's 


WASHINGTON'S  UNDERSTUDY  181 

description  of  the  lady's  character  She  ended 
by  bidding  him  wait  for  an  answer.  He  heard 
her  say,  as  she  swept  down  the  veranda: 

"Excuse  me  a  moment  while  I  answer  this 
note.  It 's  from  Ethel  Carter,  Jerome  Carter's 
daughter,  you  know"-  —  evidently  this  was  a 
name  to  conjure  with  —  "an  invitation  to 
meet  Lord  Kiscadden.  It  should  have  come 
three  days  ago,  but  their  man  stupidly  forgot 
to  deliver  it.  He  is  begging  me  not  to  report 
him,  though  I  feel  that  such  carelessness  really 
ought  to  be  punished."  She  rustled  on  into  the 
house,  and  Peter  sat  for  twenty  minutes  flicking 
the  flies  from  Trixy's  legs. 

"An'  she's  a  daughter  o'  Tim  McGarrah!" 
he  repeated  to  himself.  There  had  been  noth 
ing  snobbish  about  Tim;  he  was  hail-fellow- 
well-met  with  every  voter  east  of  Broadway. 
"  She  's  ashamed  of  him  now,"  Peter  reflected, 
"and  won't  let  on  she  ever  heard  the  name; 
but  the  old  man  was  ten  times  more  a  gentleman 
than  his  daughter  is  a  lady,  for  all  his  saloon  I" 


i82      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

His  cogitations  came  to  an  end  as  Mrs. 
Booth-Higby  rustled  back,  a  delicately  tinted 
envelope  in  her  hand  and  a  more  indulgent 
smile  upon  her  lips. 

"There  are  to  be  theatricals?"  she  inquired, 
in  a  note  of  forgiveness. 

"I  believe  so,  ma'am/' 

"  Is  Lord  Kiscadden  to  take  part  ?" 

"Can't  say,  ma'am." 

Peter,  as  scene-shifter,  had  had  ample  oppor 
tunity  to  study  Lord  Kiscadden's  interpre 
tation  of  the  character  of  George  Washington  — 
his  lordship,  with  a  fine  sense  of  humour,  had 
himself  selected  the  role  —  but  at  mention  of 
the  name,  Peter's  face  was  blank. 

"Is  he  to  remain  much  longer  at  Jasper 
Place  ?"  she  persisted. 

"Haven't  heard  him  say,  ma'am." 

She  abandoned  her  pursuit  of  news,  handed 
him  the  note,  and  graciously  added  ten  cents. 

Peter  touched  his  hat  gravely,  murmured, 
"Thank  ye,  ma'am,"  and  drove  away.  At 


WASHINGTON'S  UNDERSTUDY   183 

the  foot  of  the  lawn  the  Booth-Higby  peacock  — 
supposedly  a  decoration  for  the  Italian  garden, 
but  given  to  wandering  out  of  bounds  — 
trailed  its  plumage  across  his  path.  Peter 
shied  his  ten  cents  at  the  bird's  head,  with 
the  muttered  wish  that  the  coin  had  been  large 
enough  really  to  accomplish  damage. 

The  day  of  the  garden  party  showed  a  clear 
sky  above,  and  Peter  was  up  with  the  dawn 
and  at  work.  Miss  Ethel  had  appointed  him 
her  right-hand  man,  and  though  he  had  the 
entire  stable  and  house  force  to  help  him,  he 
found  the  responsibility  wearing.  He  was 
feeling  what  it  was  to  be  a  Captain  of  Industry. 
He  superintended  the  raising  of  a  supper  tent  on 
the  lawn,  strung  coloured  electric  bulbs  among 
the  branches  of  the  trees,  saw  the  furniture 
moved  out  of  the  drawing-room  and  a  hundred 
camp  chairs  moved  in.  He  spent  the  after 
noon  shifting  scenery  for  the  dress  rehearsal; 
but  finally,  close  upon  six,  he  shoved  Plymouth 
Rock  back  into  place  for  the  first  tableau, 


184      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

and,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  turned  toward  the 
kitchen.  He  felt  that  he  had  earned  a  fifteen- 
minutes'  chat  with  Annie. 

But  fresh  trouble  awaited  him.  He  found 
Mrs .  Carter  and  Nora  in  anxious  consulta 
tion.  The  ice-cream  had  not  come;  and  the 
expressman,  who  had  already  met  three 
trains,  said  that  he  could  not  deliver  it  now 
until  morning. 

Mrs.  Carter  pounced  upon  Peter. 

"  Is  Miss  Ethel  through  with  you  ?  Then 
drive  to  the  station  immediately  and  meet 
the  six-twenty  train.  If  it  is  n't  on  that, 
stop  at  Gunther's  and  tell  them  they  will  have 
to  make  me  seven  gallons  of  ice-cream  before 
ten  o'clock  to-night.  It 's  disgraceful!  I  shall 
never  engage  Perry  to  cater  again.  And  tell 
the  expressman  that  I  consider  him  very  dis 
obliging,"  she  threw  after  him. 

An  hour  and  a  half  later  he  dumped  three  kegs 
of  ice  and  brine  on  the  back  veranda,  and  was 
turning  away,  cheered  by  the  near  hope  of  his 


WASHINGTON'S  UNDERSTUDY  185 

long-postponed  supper  when  Annie  hailed  him 
from  the  kitchen  window. 

"Hey,  Pete!  Wait  a  minute.  Miss  Ethel 
said,  as  soon  as  you  got  back,  for  me  to  send  you 
to  the  library." 

"What  are  they  wantin*  now?"  he  growled. 
"  I  '11  be  glad  when  that  bloomin'  young  lord 
takes  himself  home  to  Ireland  where  he  b'longs. 
Between  picnics  an'  ridin'  parties  an'  clam 
bakes  an*  theatricals,  I  ain't  had  a  chance  to 
sit  down  since  he  come." 

Annie  shoved  a  chair  toward  him. 

"Then  now's  your  chance,  for  he  's  gone.  A 
telegram  came  calling  him  away,  an'  Mr.Harry's 
just  back  from  motoring  him  to  the  station." 

"Praise  be  to  the  saints!"  said  Peter,  and 
he  turned  toward  the  library  door. 

He  found  Miss  Ethel,  the  two  young  ladies 
who  were  visiting  her,  and  Mr.  Harry  Jasper 
gathered  in  a  pensive  group  before  the  gauze 
screen  that  stretched  across  the  front  of  the 
stage. 


186      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"Here  he  is!"  cried  Miss  Ethel,  with  an  as* 
sumption  of  energy.  "  Put  on  this  hat  and  wig, 
Peter,  and  stand  behind  the  screen.  I  want  to 
see  what  you  look  like." 

Peter  apathetically  complied.  He  had  re 
ceived  so  many  extraordinary  commands  during 
the  past  few  days  that  nothing  stirred  his 
curiosity. 

"Bully!"  said  Mr.  Harry.  " Never  'd  know 
him  in  the  world." 

"We'll  lower  the  lights,"  said  Miss  Ethel. 
"Fortunately  the  gauze  is  thick." 

"Peter,"  Mr.  Harry  faced  him  with  an  air  of 
tragic  portent,  "a  grave  calamity  has  befallen 
the  state.  The  rightful  heir  has  been  spirited 
away,  and  it 's  imperative  that  we  find  a  sub 
stitute.  I  Ve  often  remarked,  Peter,  upon  the 
striking  resemblance  between  you  and  Lord 
Kiscadden.  In  that  lies  our  only  hope.  It  *s 
a  Prisoner  of  Zenda  situation.  Often  occurs 
in  novels.  Do  you  think  it  might  be  carried  out 
in  real  life?" 


WASHINGTON'S  UNDERSTUDY  187 

"Can't  say,  sir,"  Peter  blinked  dazedly. 

"Be  sensible,  Harry!"  Miss  Ethel  silenced 
him.  "Peter,  Lord  Kiscadden  has  been  sud 
denly  called  away,  and  it  spoils  our  tableaux 
for  this  evening.  Fortunately,  he  did  n't  have 
a  speaking  part.  You  've  watched  him  re 
hearse  —  do  you  think  you  could  take  his 
place  ?" 

"Don't  believe  I  could,  ma'am."  Peter's 
face  did  not  betray  enthusiasm. 

"You  '11  have  to  do  it!"  said  Miss  Ethel. 
"It's  too  late  now  to  find  anyone  else." 

"You  're  George  Washington,"  Mr.  Harry 
cut  in.  "Father  of  his  country.  Only  man 
on  earth  who  never  told  a  lie  —  no  one  will 
recognize  you  in  that  part,  Peter." 

"  Here  are  the  clothes."  Miss  Ethel  bundled 
them  into  his  arms.  "You  saw  Lord  Kis 
cadden  this  afternoon,  so  you  know  how  they 
go.  Be  sure  you  get  your  wig  on  straight,  and 
powder  your  face  thick!  It 's  half-past  seven  j 
you  will  have  to  dress  immediately." 


188      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"I  ain't  had  no  supper,"  Peter  stolidly 
observed. 

"Annie  will  give  you  something  to  eat  in 
the  kitchen.  We  won't  tell  anybody  except 
the  few  who  are  with  you  in  the  tableaux. 
The  operetta  cast  have  never  seen  Lord  Kis- 
cadden,  and  won't  know  the  difference.  The 
minute  the  tableaux  are  over  you  can  disappear, 
and  we  will  explain  that  you  have  been  suddenly 
called  away." 

A  slow  grin  spread  over  Peter's  face. 

"Are  ye  wantin'  me  to  talk  like  him?"  he 
inquired.  His  lordship's  idiom  had  been  the 
subject  of  much  covert  amusement  among  the 
servants;  Peter  could  mimic  it  to  perfection. 

"  I  don't  quite  ask  that,"  Miss  Ethel  laughed, 
"but  at  least  keep  still.  Don't  talk  at  all  ex 
cept  to  us.  You  can  pretend  you  are  shy." 

"What  did  she  want,  Pete  ?"  Annie  inquired, 
with  eager  curiosity  as  he  reappeared. 

Peter  exhibited  his  clothes. 

"Don't  speak  to  me  so  familiar!     I  'm  Lord 


WASHINGTON'S  UNDERSTUDY  189 

Kiscadden  o'  County  Cark.  Me  family  is 
straight  descinded  from  the  kings  of  Ireland, 
and  I  'm  masqueradin'  as  George  Washington 
who  never  told  a  lie." 

An  hour  later,  Peter,  in  knee  breeches  and 
lace  ruffles,  with  hat  comfortably  cocked  to 
ward  his  left  ear,  was  sitting  at  ease  on  a  corner 
of  the  kitchen  table,  dangling  two  buckled 
shoes  into  space,  while  a  cigarette  emerged  at 
an  acute  angle  from  the  corner  of  his  mouth. 
His  appearance  suggested  a  very  rakish  cari 
cature  of  the  immortal  first  President.  The 
maids  were  gathered  in  a  giggling  group  about 
the  young  man,  when  Miss  Ethel  and  Mr.  Harry, 
also  in  costume,  appeared  in  the  kitchen  door. 
The  effect  on  George  Washington  was  electrical; 
he  removed  his  cigarette,  slid  to  the  floor, 
straightened  his  spinal  column,  and  awaited 
orders. 

Mr.  Harry  carried  a  make-up  box  under 
his  arm.  He  covered  the  groom's  face  with 
a  layer  of  powder,  redirected  the  curve  of  his 


190      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

eyebrows,  added  a  touch  of  rouge,  and 
stepped  back  to  view  the  effect. 

"Perfect!"  cried  Miss  Ethel.  "No  one  on 
earth  would  recognize  him." 

"Peter,"  Mr.  Harry  gravely  schooled  him, 
"these  are  your  lines  for  the  evening;  say  them 
after  me:  'By  Jove!  Ripping!  Oh,  I  say! 
Fancy,  now!' ' 

Peter  unsmilingly  repeated  his  lesson. 

"And  no  matter  what  anybody  says  to  you, 
you  are  not  to  go  beyond  that.  Understand  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  '11  do  me  best,  sir."  There 
was  an  anxious  gleam  in  Peter's  eye;  he  was 
suddenly  being  assailed  by  stage  fright. 

"Your  first  appearance  is  in  the  fourth 
tableau,  where  you  say  good-bye  to  your  family 
before  taking  command  of  the  army,"  Miss 
Ethel  explained.  "  The  moment  it 's  over 
slip  out  to  change  your  costume,  and  stay  out 
until  after  the  Declaration  of  Independence 
has  been  signed.  Don't  stand  around  the 
wings  where  people  can  talk  to  you.  Now 


WASHINGTON'S  UNDERSTUDY  191 

go  and  wait  in  the  butler's  pantry  until  you 
are  called." 

Washington  took  an  affecting  leave  of  his 
family  amid  an  interested  rustling  of  programmes 
on  the  part  of  the  audience;  no  one  was  un 
aware  of  the  exalted  identity  of  the  hero.  The 
applause  was  enthusiastic,  and  the  curtain 
was  twice  raised.  As  it  fell  for  the  last  time 
a  group  of  historical  personages  from  the  oper 
etta  cast  hovered  about  him  with  congratulatory 
whispers.  One  or  two  were  in  the  secret,  but 
the  rest  were  not.  Mr.  Harry,  as  stage 
manager,  waved  them  off. 

"Clear  the  boards  for  the  next  scene,"  he 
whispered  hoarsely.  "  Here,  Kiscadden,  you  '11 
have  to  hurry  and  dress.  You  cross  the  Dela 
ware  in  ten  minutes."  With  a  hand  on  George 
Washington's  shoulder  he  marched  him  off. 
"That  was  splendid,  Peter,"  Mr.  Harry  whis 
pered,  as  he  shunted  him  into  the  butler's 
pantry.  "Not  a  soul  suspected.  You  stay 
here  until  you  are  wanted.'* 


192      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

The  Delaware  was  crossed  without  mishap, 
also  the  night  watch  kept  at  Valley  Forge. 
Washington  and  Lafayette  crouched  over  their 
camp  fire  amidst  driving  snow,  while  the  au 
dience  shivered  in  sympathy.  But  unluckily, 
these  tableaux  were  followed  by  no  change  of 
costume,  and  several  others  intervened  be 
fore  Peter's  next  appearance.  As  he  was 
anxiously  trying  to  obliterate  himself  in  the 
shadow  of  Plymouth  Rock,  he  heard  some  one 
behind  him  whisper: 

"Let's  cut  out  and  have  a  smoke.  It's 
deucedly  hot  in  here." 

He  turned  to  find  Miles  Standish  of  the 
operetta  cast,  with  an  insistent  hand  on 
his  elbow.  Miles  Standish,  in  private  life, 
was  a  young  man  whose  horse  Peter  had 
held  many  a  time,  and  whose  tips  were  always 
generous. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  polite  means  of  es 
cape,  and  Peter,  with  a  suppressed  grin,  fol 
lowed  his  companion  to  the  veranda.  It  was 


WASHINGTON'S  UNDERSTUDY  193 

lighted  by  a  subdued  glow  from  coloured  lan 
terns,  but  there  was  an  occasional  patch  of 
dimness.  He  picked  out  a  comfortable  chair 
and  shoved  it  well  into  the  shadow  of  a  con 
venient  palm.  Standish  produced  cigars  — 
twenty-five-cent  Havanas,  Peter  noted  ap 
preciatively  —  and  the  two  fell  into  conversa 
tion.  Fortunately  the  young  man  aspired  to 
the  reputation  of  a  raconteur,  and  he  willingly 
bore  most  of  the  burden.  Peter  kept  his  own 
speeches  as  short  as  possible,  manfully  over 
coming  a  tendency  to  end  his  sentences  with 
"sir."  An  occasional  interpolation  of  "By 
Jove!"  or  "I  say!"  in  imitation  of  Lord 
Kiscadden's  lazy  drawl,  was  as  far  as  he  was 
required  to  go. 

He  came  out  of  the  encounter  with  colours 
still  flying;  but  a  perilous  ten  minutes  followed. 
As  the  two  strolled  back  to  the  stage  entrance, 
they  were  intercepted  by  a  gay  group  of  Pilgrim 
maids.  Peter  had  coped  successfully  with  one 
young  man,  but  he  realized  that  half  a  dozen 


i94      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

young  ladies  were  quite  beyond  his  powers 
of  repartee.  One  of  them  threw  him  a  laugh 
ing  compliment  on  his  acting,  and  he  felt 
himself  growing  pink  as  he  murmured  with  a 
spasmodic  gulp: 

"Yes,  ma'am.     Thank  ye,  ma'am  —  I  say!" 

The  orchestra  saved  the  situation  by  striking 
into  a  rollicking  quickstep  that  made  talking 
difficult.  The  music  in  the  end  went  to  Peter's 
heels;  and  grasping  a  blue  and  buff  coat  tail 
in  either  hand,  he  favoured  the  company  with 
an  Irish  jig.  This  served  better  than  con 
versation;  the  laughter  and  applause  were 
uproarious,  bringing  down  upon  them  the 
wrath  of  the  stage  manager. 

"  Here  you  people,  taisez-vous!  You  're  mak 
ing  such  a  racket  they  can  hear  you  inside,  Ah, 
Kiscadden!  You  're  wanted  on  the  stage; 
it 's  time  for  Cornwallis  to  surrender."  Peter 
was  marched  out  of  danger's  way. 

The  surrender  was  followed  by  the  operetta 
in  which  Miss  Ethel  was  heroine.  Her  own 


WASHINGTON'S  UNDERSTUDY    195 

affairs  claimed  her,  but  she  paused  long  enough 
to  whisper  in  George  Washington's  ear: 

"You  may  go  now,  Peter.  You  've  done 
very  nicely.  Slip  out  through  the  butler's  pan 
try  where  no  one  will  see  you.  Change  into 
your  own  clothes  and  help  them  in  the  kitchen 
about  serving  supper  —  but  don't  on  any  ac 
count  step  into  the  front  part  of  the  house 
again  to-night." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Peter,  meekly. 

He  found  the  entrance  to  the  butler's  pantry 
blocked,  and  he  dived  into  the  empty  conser 
vatory,  intending  to  pass  thence  to  the  veranda, 
and  so  get  around  to  the  kitchen  the  outside  way. 
But  as  he  reached  the  veranda  door  he  ran 
face  to  face  into  Mrs.  Booth-Higby.  Peter 
quickly  backed  into  a  fern-hung  nook  to  let  her 
pass.  The  light  was  dim,  but  his  costume  was 
distinctive;  after  a  moment  of  hesitating  scrutiny 
she  bore  down  upon  him. 

"Oh,  it 's  George  Washington!  —  Lord  Kis- 
cadden,  I  should  say.  I  see  by  the  programme 


196       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

that  your  part  is  finished.  It  was  so  fright 
fully  warm  inside  that  I  slipped  out  to  get  a 
breath  of  air.  May  I  introduce  myself?  I 
am  Mrs.  Booth-Higby,  of  Red  Towers.  I 
trust  that  you  will  drop  in  often  while  you  are 
in  the  neighbourhood.  I  have  so  wanted  to 
have  a  chance  to  talk  to  you  because  you  come 
from  Ireland  —  dear  old  Ireland!  I  am  Irish 
myself  on  the  side  that  is  n't  Colonial,  and  I 
have  a  warm  spot  in  my  heart  for  everything 
green." 

Peter  manfully  bit  back  the  only  obser 
vation  that  occurred  to  him  while  the  lady 
rattled  on: 

"My  Irish  connection  is  three  generations 
back  —  a  younger  son,  you  know,  who  came 
to  make  his  way  in  a  new  land,  and,  having 
married  into  one  of  the  old  Colonial  families, 
settled  for  good.  But  once  Irish,  always  Irish, 
I  say.  My  heart  warms  to  the  little  raga 
muffins  in  the  street  if  they  have  a  bit  of  the 
brogue.  It 's  the  call  of  the  blood,  I  suppose. 


WASHINGTON'S  UNDERSTUDY    197 

Shall  we  sit  here  ?  Or  perhaps  you  have  an 
engagement  —  don't  let  me  keep  you " 

He  summoned  what  breath  was  left  and  con 
fusedly  murmured:  "Oh,  I  say!  Ripping!" 

They  settled  themselves  on  a  rustic  bench, 
and  Peter,  possessing  himself  of  her  fan, 
slowly  waved  it  to  and  fro  in  the  nonchalant 
manner  of  Mr.  Harry.  Mrs.  Booth-Higby, 
fortunately,  was  no  less  garrulous  than  Miles 
Standish  had  been,  and  she  rattled  on  gaily, 
barely  pausing  for  her  companion's  English 
interpolations. 

Peter's  feelings  were  divided.  He  had  the 
amused  consciousness  that  he  was  being  flirted 
with  by  the  lady  who,  three  days  before,  had 
so  condescendingly  given  him  ten  cents.  And 
he  also  had  a  chilly  apprehension  of  the  storm 
that  would  rise  if  by  any  mischance  she  discov 
ered  the  hoax.  But  his  righting  blood  was  up, 
and  he  was  excited  by  past  success.  He 
abandoned  his  interjections  and,  venturing 
out  for  himself,  recounted  an  anecdote  of  a 


198       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

fellow  countryman  in  an  excellent  imitation  of 
Irish  brogue.  The  effort  was  received  with 
flattering  applause.  After  all,  he  reassured 
himself,  this  was  not  his  funeral,  Miss  Ethel  and 
Mr.  Harry  must  bear  all  blame;  with  which 
care-free  shifting  of  responsibility  he  settled 
himself  to  extract  what  amusement  there  might 
be  in  the  situation. 

The  curtain  finally  fell  on  the  last  act  of 
the  play,  and  a  shuffling  of  feet  and  moving  of 
chairs  betokened  that  a  general  exodus  would 
follow.  Peter  came  back  with  a  start  to  a 
realization  of  his  predicament.  While  con 
fidence  in  his  powers  of  simulation  had  been 
rising  steadily  during  the  past  half-hour,  he 
still  doubted  his  ability  to  deal  with  the 
audience  en  masse. 

But  fortunately,  the  first  two  to  appear  in 
the  conservatory  were  Miss  Ethel  and  Mr. 
Harry,  engaged  entirely  with  their  own  affairs, 
all  thought  of  the  pseudo  Kiscadden  put  from 
their  minds.  As  they  became  aware  of  the 


WASHINGTON'S  UNDERSTUDY    199 

couple  in  the  fernery,  they  stopped  short  with 
a  gasp  of  surprise. 

"  Why,  Pet  -  '  Miss  Ethel  caught  herself, 
and  summoning  a  cordial  tone  added  quickly: 
"Lord  Kiscadden!  A  telegram  came  a  long 
time  ago  —  I  thought  you  had  received  it  ?  I  'm 
afraid  they  stopped  the  boy  in  the  kitchen." 

"Oh,  I  say,  by  Jove!  Fancy  now!"  George 
Washington  jumped  hastily  to  his  feet. 
"  Pleased  to  know  ye,  ma'am,"  he  added  with 
a  farewell  duck  of  his  head;  and  without  wait 
ing  for  further  words,  he  vaulted  the  veranda 
railing  and  disappeared  around  the  corner  of 
the  house.  He  lingered  a  moment  in  the  shrub 
bery  to  hear  her  say: 

"Lord  Kiscadden  and  I  have  been  having 
such  an  interesting  evening!  What  a  de 
licious  accent  he  has!  You  must  bring  him 
to  Red  Towers,  Mr.  Jasper.  I  feel  that  he 
really  belongs  to  me  more  than  to  you;  we  have 
discovered  that  we  are  distant  connections. 
It  seems  that  his  grandmother,  the  third  Lady 


200      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

Kiscadden,  was  a  McGarrah  before  she  mar 
ried.  My  own  family  name  was  McGarrah, 
and " 

Peter  put  his  hand  over  his  mouth  to  stifle 
his  feelings,  and  reeled  toward  the  kitchen 
porch. 

An  hour  later,  when  supper  was  finished, 
Miss  Ethel  and  Mr.  Harry  Jasper  slipped  away 
from  the  guests  and  turned  toward  the  kitchen. 
They  paused  for  a  moment  in  the  butler's  pan 
try,  arrested  by  the  sound  of  Peter's  voice  as 
he  discoursed  in  his  richest  brogue  to  an  ap 
preciative  group  of  maids.  His  theme  was 
the  Daughters  of  the  Revolution  —  he  had 
evidently  kept  his  ears  open  during  his  brief 
introduction  to  society. 

"Me  father  was  a  Malone,  an'  me  mother 
was  a  Haggerty.  The  family  settled  in  Amer 
ica  in  1620  B.  C.,  all  me  ancistors  on  both  sides 
bein'  first-cabin  passengers  on  the  Mayflower. 
We  're  straight  discinded  from  Gov'nor  Brad 
ford,  an*  me  fifth  great-grandfather  was  the 


WASHINGTON'S  UNDERSTUDY  201 

first  man  hung  in  the  United  States.  Malone  's 
a  Scotch  name  —  it  used  to  be  Douglas,  but  it 
got  changed  in  the  pronouncin'  —  an'  Haggerty 
is  Frinch.  I  'm  eligible  on  both  sides,  an*  me 
mother  was  a  charter  member.  Yes,  't  is  a 
great  society;  the  object  of  it  is  to  keep  the 
country  dimocratic." 

They  pushed  open  the  door  and  entered. 
Peter,  restored  to  his  own  clothes,  was  seated 
before  the  kitchen  table  engaged,  between 
sentences,  with  a  soup  plate  full  of  ice-cream. 
He  shuffled  hastily  to  his  feet  as  the  two  ap 
peared,  and  with  a  somewhat  guilty  air  studied 
their  faces.  He  was  trying  to  remember  what 
he  had  said  last. 

"Peter,"  Miss  Ethel's  voice  was  meant  to 
be  severe,  "what  have  you  been  telling  Mrs. 
Booth-Higby  ?" 

Peter  shifted  his  weight  anxiously  from  one 
foot  to  the  other. 

"Nothin',  ma'am." 

"Nothing  —  nonsense!     She  is  going  about 


202      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

telling  everybody  that  she  is  Lord  Kiscadden's 
cousin.  She  never  made  up  any  such  impos 
sible  story  as  that  without  help." 

Miss  Ethel's  manner  was  sternly  reproving, 
but  Peter  caught  a  gleam  of  malicious  amuse 
ment  in  her  eye.  It  occurred  to  him  that  she 
was  not  averse  to  an  exhibition  of  Mrs.  Booth- 
Higby's  folly  before  Mr.  Harry  Jasper. 

"I  was  n't  to  blame,  Miss  Ethel.  I  could  n't 
get  out  by  the  butler's  pantry  like  ye  told  me 
because  the  Hartridge  family  was  blockin'  the 
way,  and  I  knew  they'd  recognize  me  if  I 
come  within  ten  feet.  So  I  thinks  to  meself, 
I  '11  go  through  the  conservatory;  but  just  as  I 
reaches  the  door  I  runs  plumb  into  Mrs. 
Booth-Higby. 

"Oh,  me  dear  Lord  Kiscadden,'  she  says, 
'you  was  the  b'y  I  was  wantin'  to  see!  I  must 
tell  ye,'  she  says,  'how  I  've  enjoyed  yer 
actin';  'twas  great,'  she  says,  'ye  was  the  best 
person  in  the  whole  show.'  An'  wid  that  she 
puts  a  hand  on  me  arm  an'  never  lets  go  for 


WASHINGTON'S  UNDERSTUDY  203 

an    hour    and     a     quarter  —  ye    know,    Mr* 
Harry,  how  graspin'  she  is." 

Peter  appealed  to  him  as  one  man  to  another. 

"She  begun  with  askin*  about  me  estate  in 
dear  old  Ireland.  Bern'  only  eighteen  months 
old  when  I  left  it,  I  could  n't  remember  many 
details,  but  I  used  me  imagination  an*  done  the 
best  I  could.  I  told  her  there  was  two  lions 
sittin'  on  the  gate-posts  holdin'  me  coat-of- 
arms  in  their  paws;  I  told  her  there  was  two 
towers  to  the  castle,  and  a  peacock  strollin' 
on  the  lawn;  an'  then  f'r  fear  she  'd  be  gettin* 
suspicious,  I  thought  to  change  the  subject. 
'Yes,  'tis  a  beautiful  house/  I  says,  'but  it 
ain't  so  grand  as  some.  The  biggest  place 
in  the  neighbourhood,'  I  says,  'is  Castle 
McGarrah'--  the  name  just  popped  into  me 
head,  Miss  Ethel. 

1 '  McGarrah !'  she  says/  that  is  me  own  name.' 

'"The  divvil!'  thinks  I.  'I've  put  me 
foot  in  it  now.'  But  't  was  too  late  to  go 
back.  'Possibly  the  same  family/  says  I, 


204       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

politely.     'The    present    owner,    Sir  Timothy 

McGarrah ' 

'Timothy!'  she  says,  'that  was  me  father's 
name,  an'  me  grandfather's  before  him.' 

" '  There  's  always  one  son  in  ivery  gineration 
that  carries  it,'  says  I. 

"  *  Can  it  be  possible  ?'  she  murmurs  to  herself. 

"Me  own  grandmother  was  a  daughter  to 
the  second  Sir  Timothy,'  I  says,  'him  as  quar 
relled  with  his  youngest  son  an'  drove  him  from 
home.  Some  says  he  went  to  Australia,  an* 
some  that  he  come  to  America.  'T  was  fifty 
years  ago,  an'  all  trace  is  lost  o'  the  lad.' 

"An*  with  that  she  says  solemn  like,  'The 
b'y  was  me  grandfather !  I  see  it  all  —  he 
was  a  silent  man  an'  he  niver  talked  of  his  people ; 
but  I  always  felt  there  was  a  secret  a  preyin* 
on  his  mind.  An'  by  that  token  we  're  cousins,' 
she  says.  'I  must  insist  that  ye  make  Red 
Towers  yer  home  while  ye  stay  in  America. 
Me  husband/  she  says,  'will  enjoy  yer  acquain 
tance.' 


WASHINGTON'S  UNDERSTUDY  205 

"An*  while  I  was  tryin'  to  tell  her  polite  like 
that  't  would  be  a  pleasure,  but  unfortunately 
me  engagements  would  require  me  presence 
in  another  place,  you  an*  Mr.  Harry  come 
walkin'  into  the  conservatory,  and  I  made  me 
escape." 

"What  ever  possessed  you  to  tell  such  out 
rageous  lies  ?"  Miss  Ethel  gasped. 

'T  was  the  clothes  that  done  it,  ma'am; 
bein'  dressed  as  George  Washington,  I  could  n't 
think  o*  nothin'  true  that  was  fit  to  say." 

Miss  Ethel  dropped  limply  into  a  chair,  and 
leaning  her  head  on  the  back,  laughed  until  she 
cried. 

"  Peter,"  she  said,  wiping  the  tears  from  her 
eyes,  "  I  don't  see  but  what  I  shall  have  to  dis 
charge  you.  I  should  never  dare  let  you  drive 
past  Mrs.  Booth-Higby's  again." 

"There  's  nothin'  to  fear,"  said  Peter,  tran 
quilly.  "She  won't  recognize  me,  ma'am. 
Mrs.  Booth-Higby's  eyes  ain't  focussed  to  see 
a  groom." 


A  USURPED  PREROGATIVE 


VIII 

A  USURPED  PREROGATIVE 

PETER  scooped  a  quart  of  oats  into  a 
box,  took  out  the  bottle  of  liniment  the 
veterinary  surgeon  had  left,  and  started, 
grumbling,  for  the  lower  meadow.  Trixy  had 
hurt  her  foot,  and  it  was  Billy's  fault.  A  groom 
who  knew  no  better  than  to  tie  a  horse  to  a 
barbed-wire  fence  on  a  day  when  the  flies 
were  bad,  ought,  in  Peter's  estimation,  to  be 
discharged. 

He  had  some  trouble  in  catching  Trixy  and 
applying  the  liniment,  but  he  finally  accom 
plished  the  matter,  and  dropped  down  to  rest 
in  the  shade  of  the  straggling  hedge  that  divided 
the  grounds  of  Willowbrook  from  Jasper  Place. 
He  lighted  his  pipe  and  fell  to  a  lazy  con 
templation  of  the  pasture  —  his  thoughts  neither 

209 


2io      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

of  Trixy  nor  the  cows  nor  anything  else  per 
taining  to  his  duties,  but  now  as  always  playing 
with  a  glorified  vision  of  Annie,  the  prettiest 
little  parlour-maid  in  the  whole  wide  world. 
He  was  completely  lost  to  his  surroundings, 
when  the  sound  of  pistol  shots  on  the  other 
side  of  the  hedge  recalled  him  to  the  present 
with  a  jerk. 

"  What  are  them  young  devils  up  to  now  ?"  he 
muttered,  as  he  raised  himself  to  look  through 
the  branches. 

A  group  of  boys  was  visible  down  on  the 
Jasper  beach,  firing,  somewhat  wildly,  toward 
a  target  they  had  set  up  on  the  bank.  Peter 
squinted  his  eyes  and  peered  closely;  one  of 
the  boys  was  Bobby  Carter,  and  Peter  more 
than  suspected  that  the  revolver  was  his  father's. 
The  boy  had  been  strictly  forbidden  to  play 
with  firearms,  and  Peter's  first  impulse  was 
to  interfere;  but  on  second  thoughts  he  hesi 
tated.  Bobby  was  very  recently  thirteen,  and 
was  feeling  the  importance  of  no  longer  being 


A  USURPED  PREROGATIVE      211 

a  little  boy.     He  would  not  relish  being  told 
to  come  home  and  mind  his  father. 

While  Peter  stood  hesitating,  a  sudden  fright 
ened  squawk  rang  out,  and  he  saw  one  of  Mr. 
Jasper's  guinea  fowls  fly  a  few  feet  into  the  air 
and  plump  heavily  to  the  ground.  At  the 
same  instant  Patrick  appeared  at  the  top  of 
the  meadow,  bearing  down  upon  the  scene  of 
the  crime,  shouting  menacingly  as  he  advanced. 
The  boys  broke  and  ran.  They  came  crashing 
through  the  hedge  a  few  feet  from  Peter  and 
made  for  cover  in  a  clump  of  willows.  Peter 
recognized  them  all  —  Bobby  and  Bert  Holliday 
and  the  two  Hartridge  boys,  the  latter  the 
horror  of  all  well-regulated  parents.  He  saw 
them  part,  the  two  Hartridge  boys  heading  for 
the  road,  while  Bobby  and  Bert  Holliday 
turned  toward  the  house,  keeping  warily  under 
the  bank,  Bobby  buttoning  the  revolver  inside 
his  jacket  as  he  ran.  Peter  crouched  under 
the  branches  and  laid  low;  he  had  no  desire 
to  be  called  into  the  case  as  witness. 


212  -   MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

Patrick  panted  up  to  the  hedge  and  surveyed 
the  empty  stretch  of  meadow  with  a  disappointed 
grunt.  He  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Hartridge 
boys  as  they  climbed  the  fence  into  the  high 
road,  but  they  were  too  far  off  for  recognition. 
He  mopped  his  brow  and  lumbered  back  to 
examine  the  body  of  the  guinea  fowl.  Poor 
Patrick  was  neither  so  slender  nor  so  young  as 
when  he  entered  Mr.  Jasper's  service  twenty 
years  before;  as  he  daily  watched  Peter's 
troubles  across  the  hedge,  he  thanked  the 
saints  that  the  Jasper  family  contained  no  boys. 

Peter  waited  till  Patrick  was  well  out  of 
sight,  when  he  rose  and  turned  back  toward 
the  stables.  He  met  Bobby  and  Bert  Holliday 
in  the  lane,  armed  with  a  net,  a  basket,  and  a 
generous  hunk  of  raw  meat. 

"Hello,  Pete!"  Bobby  hailed  him  cheerily. 
"  We  're  going  crabbing,  Bert  and  me.  If 
you  hear  Nora  asking  after  some  soup  meat 
that  strayed  out  of  the  refrigerator,  don't  let 
on  you  met  it." 


A  USURPED  PREROGATIVE      213 

"Trust  me!"  said  Peter  with  an  answering 
grin;  but  he  turned  and  looked  after  the  boys 
a  trifle  soberly. 

Bobby's  escapade  with  the  revolver  was  on 
a  different  plane  from  such  mild  misdemeanours 
as  abstracting  fishing  bait  from  the  kitchen. 
Peter  felt  keenly  that  Mr.  Carter  ought  to  know, 
but  he  shrank  from  the  idea  of  telling.  For 
one  thing,  he  hated  tale-bearing;  for  another, 
he  had  a  presentiment  as  to  the  direction  Bobby's 
punishment  would  take. 

As  an  indirect  result  of  his  thirteenth  birth 
day,  the  boy  was  to  have  a  new  horse  —  not 
another  pony,  but  a  grown-up  horse  —  pro 
vided  always  that  he  was  good.  Mr.  Carter, 
being  occupied  with  business  out  of  town,  had 
not  been  able  to  give  the  matter  his  immediate 
attention;  and  poor  Bobby  had  been  dwelling 
on  the  cold  heights  of  virtue  for  nearly  a  month. 
He  had  undergone,  a  week  or  so  before,  a  mild 
attack  of  three-day  measles  which  he  had 
borne  with  a  sweet  gentleness  quite  foreign  to 


214       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

his  nature.  Peter  had  openly  scouted  the 
doctor's  diagnosis  of  the  case. 

"Rats!"  he  remarked  to  Annie,  after  viewing 
the  boy's  speckled  surface.  "That  ain't 
measles.  It 's  his  natural  badness  working 
out.  I  knew  it  were  n't  healthy  for  him  to  be 
so  good.  If  Mr.  Carter  don't  make  up  his 
mind  about  that  horse  pretty  soon  the  boy  '11 
go  into  a  decline." 

But  at  last  the  question  was  on  the  point  of 
being  settled.  Mr.  Carter,  having  visited  every 
horse  dealer  in  the  neighbourhood,  had,  in  his 
carefully  methodical  manner,  almost  made  up 
his  mind.  The  choice  was  a  wiry  little 
mustang,  thin-limbed  and  built  for  running; 
he  could  give  even  Blue  Gypsy  some  useful 
lessons  in  speed,  and  she  had  a  racing  pedigree 
four  generations  long.  Peter  had  fallen  in 
love  with  the  mustang;  he  wanted  it  almost 
as  much  as  Bobby  And  he  realized  that 
these  next  few  days  were  a  critical  period;  if 
the  boy  were  discovered  in  any  black  offence, 


A  USURPED  PREROGATIVE      215 

the  horse  would  be  postponed  until  his  four 
teenth  birthday.  His  father  had  an  unerring 
sense  of  duty  in  the  matter  of  punishments. 

It  was  Saturday  and  Mr.  Carter  would  be 
out  on  the  noon  train.  Peter  drove  to  the 
station  to  meet  him,  still  frowning  over  the 
question  of  Bobby  and  the  revolver.  He  finally 
decided  to  warn  the  boy;  there  would  be  time 
enough  to  speak  if  the  offence  were  repeated. 
Mr.  Carter  proved  to  be  in  an  unusually  genial 
frame  of  mind.  He  chatted  all  the  way  out 
on  matters  pertaining  to  the  stables;  and  as 
they  drew  up  at  the  porte-cochere  he  paused 
to  ask: 

"Ah,  Peter,  about  this  new  mustang  for 
Master  Bobby,  what  do  you  think?" 

"  He  Js  a  fine  horse,  sir,  though  I  suspicion 
not  too  well  broke.  But  he 's  got  a  good 
pair  o*  legs  —  I  should  say  two  pair,  sir  —  an* 
sound  wind.  That  's  the  main  thing.  We 
can  finish  his  trainin'  ourselves." 

"Then  you  advise  me  to  get  him  ?" 


2i6      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"  I  should  say  that  ye  would  n't  be  makin* 
no  mistake.  I  '11  be  glad,  sir,  to  see  Master 
Bobby  with  a  horse  of  his  own.  He  's  gettin* 
too  heavy  for  Toddles." 

"Very  well.  I  '11  do  it.  You  may  have 
Blue  Gypsy  saddled  immediately  after  luncheon 
and  I  will  ride  over  to  Shannon  Farms  and 
close  the  deal." 

At  two  o'clock  Blue  Gypsy  stood  pawing 
impatiently  before  the  library  door  with  Peter 
soothingly  patting  her  neck.  Mr.  Carter 
paused  on  the  steps  to  survey  her  shining  coat 
with  the  complaisant  approval  of  ownership. 

"Pretty  good  animal,  isn't  she,   Peter?" 

"She  is  that,"  said  Peter,  heartily.  "You  'd 
search  a  long  time  before ' 

His  sentence  broke  down  in  the  middle  as 
his  eye  wandered  to  the  stretch  of  lawn  beyond 
the  hedge.  Patrick  was  visible  hurrying  toward 
them,  a  white  envelope  waving  in  his  hand, 
plainly  bent  on  gaining  the  hole  in  the  hedge 
and  Mr.  Carter's  side  before  that  gentleman's 


A  USURPED  PREROGATIVE      217 

departure.  Peter  tried  to  cover  his  slip  and 
induce  his  master  to  mount  and  ride  off;  but 
it  was  too  late. 

"Here,  Peter,  just  hold  her  a  minute  longer. 
I  think  that  note  is  for  me." 

Patrick  with  some  difficulty  squeezed  him 
self  through  the  hole  —  it  had  been  made 
originally  by  Mr.  Harry  so  that  he  might  run 
over  and  call  on  Miss  Ethel  without  having 
to  go  around;  and  Mr.  Harry  was  thin.  Patrick 
emerged  with  hair  awry  and  puffing.  He 
stood  anxiously  mopping  his  brow  while  Mr. 
Carter  read  the  note.  Peter  likewise  eyed  his 
master  with  a  touch  of  anxiety;  he  had  a 
foreboding  that  the  contents  of  the  letter  meant 
no  good  to  the  cause  of  the  new  mustang. 

Mr.  Carter  ran  his  eye  down  the  page  with 
a  quickly  gathering  frown  and  then  faced  the 
man. 

"You  saw  my  son  shoot  the  guinea  fowl  ?" 

"No,  sir  —  that  is,  sir,  I  ain't  sure.  Mr. 
Jasper  he  asked  me  who  I  thought  the  boys 


2i8       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

was,  and  I  told  him  I  did  n't  get  close  enough 
to  see,  but  I  fancied  one  was  Bobby  Carter, 
because  they  run  this  way,  and  I  thought  I 
recognized  Master  Bobby's  legs  as  he  crawled 
under  the  hedge.  I  told  Mr.  Jasper  it  was 
only  guess,  but  he  was  mad  because  she  was 
one  of  his  prize  hens,  and  he  said  he  'd  just 
drop  a  line  to  you  and  let  you  investigate.  It 
was  dangerous,  he  said,  if  Master  Bobby  was 
playin'  with  firearms,  and  you  'd  ought  to 
know  it." 

"Yes,  certainly;  I  understand." 

Mr.  Carter  raised  his  voice  and  called  to 
the  boy  who  was  visible  sprawling  on  a  bench 
by  the  tennis-court. 

"Bobby!     Come  here." 

He  pulled  himself  together  with  obedient 
haste  and  advanced  to  meet  his  father,  some 
what  apprehensively,  as  his  eye  fell  upon 
Patrick. 

"Bobby,  here  is  a  note  from  Mr.  Jasper. 
He  says  that  some  boys  were  shooting  at  a 


A    USURPED  PREROGATIVE      219 

target  on  his  beach  this  morning  and  killed  one 
of  his  prize  guinea  fowls.  He  is  not  sure, 
but  he  thinks  that  you  may  have  been  one  of 
them.  How  about  it?" 

Bobby  looked  uncomprehending  for  a  moment 
while  he  covertly  studied  Patrick.  The  man's 
air  was  apologetic;  his  accusation  was  evidently 
based  upon  suspicion  rather  than  proof. 

"I  went  crabbing  with  Bert  Holliday  this 
morning,"  said  Bobby. 

"Ah!"  his  father's  face  cleared,  though  he 
still  maintained  his  stern  tone.  "I  gave  you 
strict  orders,  you  remember,  never  to  touch 
my  revolver  when  I  was  not  with  you  ? " 

"Yes,  father." 

"You  never  have  touched  it?" 

"No."     Bobby's  tone  was  barely  audible. 

"Speak  up!     I  can't  hear  you." 

"No!"  snapped  Bobby. 

"Don't  act  that  way.  I  am  not  accusing 
you  of  anything.  I  merely  wish  to  know  the 
truth."  Mr.  Carter  turned  to  Patrick,  who 


220      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

was  nervously  fumbling  with  his  hat.  "You 
see,  Patrick,  you  were  mistaken.  Tell  Mr. 
Jasper  that  I  am  sorry  about  the  guinea  fowl, 
but  that  Master  Bobby  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  shooting." 

He  dismissed  the  man  with  a  nod,  and 
mounted  and  rode  away. 

Peter  watched  him  out  of  sight,  then  he 
turned  and  crossed  the  lawn  to  the  tennis- 
court.  Bobby  was  back  on  his  bench  again 
engaged  in  carving  his  name  on  the  handle  of 
a  racket,  though  his  face,  Peter  noted,  did  not 
reflect  much  pleasure  in  the  work.  He  glanced 
up  carelessly  as  Peter  approached,  but  as  he 
caught  the  look  in  his  eye,  he  flushed  quickly, 
and  with  elaborate  attention  applied  himself 
to  shaping  a  "C." 

Peter  sat  down  on  the  end  of  the  bench 
and  regarded  him  soberly.  He  was  uncertain 
in  his  own  mind  how  he  ought  to  deal  with  the 
case,  but  that  it  must  be  dealt  with,  and  dras 
tically,  he  knew.  Peter  was  by  no  means  a 


A  USURPED  PREROGATIVE      221 

Puritan.  The  boy  could  accomplish  any 
amount  of  mischief  —  go  crabbing  instead  of 
to  Sunday-school,  play  fox  and  geese  over  the 
newly  sprouted  garden,  break  windows  and 
hotbeds,  steal  cake  from  the  pantry  and 
peaches  from  Judge  Benedict's  orchard,  and 
Peter  would  always  shield  him.  His  code  of 
morals  was  broad,  but  where  he  did  draw 
the  line  he  drew  it  tight.  Bobby's  sins  must 
be  the  sins  of  a  gentleman,  and  Peter's 
definition  of  "gentleman"  was  old  fashioned 
and  strict. 

Bobby  grew  restless  under  the  silent  scrutiny. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  asked  crossly. 
"  If  you  don't  look  out  you  '11  make  me  cut 
my  hand." 

He  closed  the  large  blade  with  an  easy  air 
of  unconcern,  and  opening  a  smaller  one,  fell 
to  work  again.  The  knife  was  equipped 
with  five  blades  and  a  corkscrew;  it  was  one 
of  the  dignities  to  which  Bobby  had  attained 
on  his  recent  birthday.  Peter  stretched  out 


222       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

his  hand  and,  taking  possession  of  the  knife, 

snapped  it  shut  and  returned  it. 

"  Put  it  in  yer  pocket  an*  pay  attention  to  me." 
"Oh,  don't  bother,   Pete.     I'm  busy." 
"Your  father  will   be   home   before  long," 

said  Peter,  significantly. 

"Well,  fire  ahead.     What  do  you  want?" 
"Ye  told  a  lie  — two  o'  them,  to  be  accurate. 

Ye  were  one  o'  them  boys  that  shot  the  chicken 

an*  ye  did  have  the  pistol." 

"I  did  n't  shoot  his  old  chicken;  it  was  Bert 

Holliday.     And   anyway   he   did  n't   mean   to; 

it  flew  straight  in  front  of  the  target  just  as  he 

fired." 

"He  had  no  business  to  be  firin'.     But  it  's 

not    the    chicken    I  'm    mournin'   about;    it 's 

the  lie." 

"  It 's  none  of  your  business,"  said  Bobby, 

sullenly. 

"Then  I  '11  make  it  me  business!     Either  ye 

goes  to  yer  father  an'  tells  him  ye  lied,  or  I  will. 

Ye  can  take  yer  choice." 


A  USURPED  PREROGATIVE      223 

"Peter,"  Bobby  began  to  plead,  "he'll 
not  give  me  the  mustang  —  you  know  he  won't. 
I  did  n't  mean  to  touch  the  revolver,  but  Bert 
forgot  his  air  rifle,  and  the  boys  were  waiting  to 
have  a  shooting  match.  I  won't  do  it  again 
-  honest,  Peter  —  hope  to  die." 

"  It  ain't  no  use,  Master  Bobby.  Ye  can't 
wheedle  me.  Ye  told  a  lie  an'  ye  've  got  to 
be  punished.  Gentlemen  don't  tell  lies  — 
leastways,  not  direct.  They  hires  a  lawyer  like 
Judge  Benedict  to  do  it  for  them.  If  ye  keep 
on  ye  '11  grow  to  be  like  the  Judge  yerself." 

Bobby  smiled  wanly.  The  Judge,  as  Peter 
knew  well,  was  his  chiefest  aversion,  owing  to 

7  O 

an  unfortunate  meeting  under  the  peach  trees. 
"You  've  told  lots  of  lies  yourself!" 
"  There  's  different  kinds  o'  lies,"  said  Peter, 
"an'   this   is   the   kind   that   I   don't   tell.      It 
ain't    that    I  'm   fond    o'    carrying   tales,"    he 
added,  "but  that  I  wants  to   see  ye   grow   up 
to  be  a  thoroughbred." 

Bobby    changed    his   tactics. 


224      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"Father  '11  feel  awfully  bad;  I  hate  to  have 
him  find  it  out." 

Peter  suppressed  a  grin. 

"Boys  ought  always  to  be  considerate  o* 
their  fathers'  feelin's,"  he  conceded. 

"And  you  know,  Pete,  that  you  want  me  to 
have  the  mustang.  You  said  yourself  that  it 
was  a  shame  for  a  big  boy  like  me  to  be  riding 
Toddles." 

Peter  folded  his  arms  and  studied  the  dis 
tance  a  moment  with  thoughtful  eyes;  then 
he  faced  his  companion  with  the  air  of 
pronouncing  an  ultimatum. 

"I'll  tell  ye  what  I'll  do,  Master  Bobby, 
since  ye  're  so  anxious  to  save  yer  father's 
feelin's.  I  '11  agree  not  to  mention  the  matter, 
an*  ye  can  take  yer  punishment  from  me  at 
the  end  of  a  strap." 

Bobby  stared. 

"Do  you  mean,"  he  gasped,  "that  you  want 
to  whip  me?" 

"Well,  no,  I  can't  say  as  I  want  to,  but  I 


A  USURPED  PREROGATIVE      225 

think  it 's  me  dooty.  If  ye  was  a  stable-boy 
and  I  caught  ye  in  a  lie  like  that,  I  'd  wallop 
ye  till  ye  could  n't  stand." 

"I  never  was  whipped  in  my  life!" 

"  The  more  reason  ye  need  it  now.  I  Ve 
often  thought,  Master  Bobby,  that  a  thorough 
Jickin'  would  do  ye  good." 

Bobby  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Tell  him  if  you  want.     I  don't  care!" 

"  Just  as  ye  please.  He  's  over  to  Shannon 
Farms  now  buyin'  the  mustang.  When  he 
gets  back  an'  finds  his  son  is  a  liar  and  a  coward, 
he  '11  be  returnin'  that  horse  by  telephone." 

Bobby's  flight  was  suspended  while  he  hung 
wavering  between  indignation  and  desire. 

"There  it  is,"  said  Peter.  "I  won't  go 
back  on  me  word.  Either  ye  keeps  a  whole 
skin  an'  rides  Toddles  another  year,  or  ye 
takes  yer  lickin'  like  a  man  an'  gets  the  horse. 
Ye  can  have  an  hour  to  think  it  over." 

He  rose  and  sauntered  unconcernedly  toward 
the  stables.  Bobby  stared  after  him,  several 


226      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

different  emotions  struggling  for  supremacy 
in  his  freckled  face;  then  he  plunged  his  hands 
deep  into  his  pockets  and  turned  down  the  lane 
with  an  attempt  at  a  swagger  as  he  passed  the 
stable  door.  At  the  paddock  gate  Toddles 
poked  his  shaggy  little  head  through  the  bars 
and  whinnied  insistently.  But  Bobby,  instead 
of  bestowing  the  expected  lump  of  sugar,  shoved 
him  viciously  with  his  elbow  and  scuffed  on. 
He  seated  himself  precariously  on  the  top  rail 
of  the  pasture  fence  and  fell  to  digging  holes  in 
the  wood  with  his  new  knife,  cogitating  mean 
while  the  two  alternatives  he  had  been  invited 
to  consider. 

They  appealed  to  him  as  equally  revolting. 
Only  that  morning  he  had  carelessly  informed 
the  boys  that  his  father  was  going  to  buy  him 
a  mustang  —  a  brown  and  white  circus  mustang 
that  was  trained  to  stand  on  its  hind  legs. 
The  humiliation  of  losing  the  horse  was  more 
than  he  could  face.  Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  to 
be  beaten  like  a  stable-boy  for  telling  a  lie  I 


A  USURPED  PREROGATIVE      227 

He  had  boasted  to  the  Hartridge  boys,  who 
did  not  enjoy  such  immunity,  that  he  had  never 
received  a  flogging  in  his  life.  He  might  have 
stood  it  from  his  father  —  but  from  Peter! 
Peter,  who  had  always  been  his  stanchest 
ally,  who,  on  occasion,  had  even  deviated  from 
the  strict  truth  himself  in  order  to  shield  Bobby 
from  justice.  The  boy  already  had  his  full 
quota  of  parents;  he  did  not  relish  having 
Peter  usurp  the  role. 

For  thirty  minutes  he  balanced  on  the  fence, 
testing  first  one  then  the  other  of  the  horns  of 
his  dilemma.  But  suddenly  he  saw,  across 
the  fields  where  the  high-road  was  visible,  a 
horse  and  rider  approaching  at  a  quick  canter. 
He  slid  down  and  walked  with  an  air  of  grim 
resolution  to  the  stables. 

Peter  was  in  the  harness-room  busily  engaged 
in  cleaning  out  the  closet.  The  floor  was  a 
litter  of  buckles  and  straps  and  horse  medicine. 

"Well?"  he  inquired,  as  Bobby  appeared 
m  the  door. 


228      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"You  can  give  me  that  licking  if  you  want," 
said  Bobby,  "  but  I  tell  you  now,  7 '//  pay 
you  back!" 

"All  right!"  said  Peter,  cheerfully,  reach 
ing  for  a  strap  that  hung  behind  the  door. 
"  I  'm  ready  if  you  are.  We  '11  go  down  in  the 
lower  meadow  where  there  won't  be  no  inter 
ruption." 

He  led  the  way  and  Bobby  followed  a  dozen 
paces  behind.  They  paused  in  a  secluded 
clump  of  willows. 

"Take  yer  coat  off,"  said  Peter. 

Bobby  cast  him  one  appealing  glance,  but 
his  face  was  adamant. 

"Take  it  off,"  he  repeated. 

Bobby  complied  without  a  word,  his  own 
face  growing  white. 

Peter  laid  on  the  strap  six  times.  He  did 
not  soften  the  blows  in  the  slightest;  it  was 
exactly  the  same  flogging  that  a  stable-boy 
would  have  received  under  the  same  circum 
stances.  Two  tears  slipped  down  Bobby's 


A  USURPED  PREROGATIVE       229 

cheeks,  but  he  set  his  jaw  hard  and  took  it 
like  a  man.  Peter  dropped  the  strap. 

"  I  'm  sorry,  Master  Bobby.  I  did  n't  like 
it  any  better  than  you,  but  it  had  to  be  done. 
Are  we  friends  ?"  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"No,  we're  not  friends!"  Bobby  snapped. 
He  turned  his  back  and  put  on  his  coat;  then 
he  started  for  the  house.  "You  '11  be  sorry," 
he  threw  over  his  shoulder. 

During  the  next  few  days  Bobby  ignored 
Peter.  If  he  had  any  business  in  the  neighbour 
hood  of  the  stables  he  addressed  himself 
ostentatiously  to  one  of  the  under  men.  The 
rupture  of  their  friendship  did  not  pass 
unmarked,  though  the  grooms  soon  found  that 
it  did  not  pay  to  be  facetious  on  the  subject. 
Billy,  in  return  for  some  jocular  comments, 
spent  an  afternoon  in  adding  a  superfluous 
lustre  to  already  brilliant  carriage  lamps. 

The  mustang  arrived,  was  christened  Apache, 
and  assigned  to  a  box  stall.  He  possessed  a 
slightly  vicious  eye  and  a  tendency  to  buck, 


23o      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

as  two  of  the  grooms  found  to  their  cost  while 
trying  to  ride  him  bareback  in  the  paddock. 
Peter  shook  his  head  dubiously  as  he  watched 
the  unseating  of  the  second  groom. 

"We  'II  put  a  curb  bit  on  that  horse.  I  don't 
just  like  his  looks  for  a  youngster  to  ride." 

"Huh!"  said  Billy,  "Master  Bobby  ain't 
such  a  baby  as  everybody  thinks;  he  can 
manage  him  all  right." 

Word  came  out  from  the  house  that  after 
noon  that  Bobby  was  to  try  the  new  mustang. 
Billy  saddled  the  horses  — Apache,  and  Blue 
Gypsy  for  Miss  Ethel,  and  a  cob  for  Peter  — 
and  led  them  out,  while  Peter  in  his  most 
immaculate  riding  clothes  swaggered  after. 
The  maids  were  all  on  the  back  porch  and 
the  family  at  the  porte-cochere  to  watch  the 
departure.  Bobby  would  accept  no  assistance, 
but  mounted  from  the  ground  with  a  fine  air 
of  pride.  Apache  plunged  a  trifle,  but  the 
boy  was  a  horseman  and  he  stuck  to  his 
saddle. 


A  USURPED  PREROGATIVE       231 

"Be  careful,  Bobby,"  his  mother  warned. 

"You  need  n't  worry  about  me,"  Bobby 
called  back  gaily.  "  I  'm  not  afraid  of  any 
horse  living!" 

Blue  Gypsy  never  stood  well,  and  Miss 
Ethel  was  already  off.  Bobby  started  to  follow, 
but  he  wheeled  about  to  say: 

"You  come,   Billy;  I   don't  want   Peter." 

"Bobby,  dear,"  his  mother  expostulated, 
"you  don't  know  the  horse;  it  would  be 
safer  - 

"I  want  Billy!  I  won't  go  if  Peter  has  to 
come  tagging  along." 

Peter  removed  his  foot  from  the  stirrup  and 
passed  the  horse  over  to  the  groom.  The 
cavalcade  clattered  off  and  he  walked  slowly 
back  to  the  stables.  He  felt  the  slight  keenly. 
He  could  remember  when  he  had  held  Bobby, 
a  baby  in  short  dresses,  on  the  back  of 
his  father  's  hunter,  when  he  had  first  taught 
the  little  hands  to  close  about  a  bridle.  And 
now,  when  the  boy  had  his  first  horse,  not  to 


252       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

Co!  Peter's  feeling  tor  Bobby  was  almost 
paternal;  the  slight  hurt  not  only  his  pride 
but  his  affections  as  well. 

He  spent  an  hour  puttering  about  the  carriage 
room,  whistling  a  cheertul  two-step  and  vainly 
pretending  to  himself  that  he  telt  in  a  cheerful 
frame  ot  mind.  Then  suddenly  his  music 
and  his  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  the  ring 
ing  of  the  house  telephone  bell,  long  and 
insistently.  He  sprang  to  the  instrument  and 
heard  Annie's  voice,  her  words  punctuated  by 
frightened  sobs. 

''Oh,  Pete!  Is  that  you  :  Something  awful 's 
happened.  There  's  been  an  accident.  Master 
Bobby 's  been  throwed.  The  doctor 's  tele 
phoned  to  £et  a  room  ready  and  have  a  nurse 
from  the  hospital  here.  You  're  to  hitch  up 
Arab  as  fast  as  you  can  and  drive  to  the  hospital 
after  her.  Oh.  I  hope  he  won't  die!"  she 
wailed. 

Peter  dropped  the  receiver  and  ran  to  Arab's 
stall.  He  led  him  out  and  threw  on  the  harness 


A  USURPED  PREROGATIVE      233 

with  hands  that  trembled  so  they  could  scarcely 
fasten  a  buckle. 

"Why  can't  I  learn  to  mind  me  own 
business?"  he  groaned.  "What  right  have 
I  to  be  floggin'  Master  Bobby  r " 

The  young  woman  whom  Peter  brought  back 
decided  before  the  end  of  the  drive  that  the 
man  beside  her  was  crazy.  All  that  she  could 
get  in  return  for  her  inquiries  as  to  the  gravity 
of  the  accident  was  the  incoherent  assertion : 

"He's  probably  dead  by  now,  ma'am,  and 
if  he  is  it  's  me  that  done  it." 

As  they  turned  in  at  the  Willowbrook  gate 
Peter  strained  forward  to  catch  sight  of  the 
house.  A  strange  coupe  was  drawn  up  before 
the  porte-cochere.  He  involuntarily  pulled 
Arab  to  a  standstill  and  looked  away,  but  the 
nurse  reached  out  and  grasped  the  reins. 

"  Here,  man,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 
Hurry  up!  They  may  want  me  to  help  get  the 
boy  in." 

Peter   drove   on   and   sat   staring   woodenly 


234      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

while  she  sprang  to  the  ground  and  hurried 
forward.  Mrs.  Carter  and  the  maids  were 
gathered  in  a  frightened  group  on  the  steps. 
He  could  hear  Miss  Ethel  inside  the  carriage 
calling  wildly: 

"Do  be  quick!  His  head  has  commenced 
to  bleed  again." 

The  driver  climbed  down  to  help  the  doctor 
lift  him  out.  They  jarred  him  going  up  the 
steps  and  he  moaned  slightly.  Peter  cursed 
the  man's  clumsy  feet,  though  not  for  worlds 
could  he  himself  have  stirred  to  help  them. 
The  boy's  head  was  bandaged  with  a  towel, 
and  he  looked  very  limp  and  white,  but  he 
summoned  a  feeble  smile  at  sight  of  his  mother. 
They  carried  him  in  and  the  servants  crowded 
after  in  an  anxious  effort  to  help. 

Peter  drove  on  to  the  stables  and  put  up 
Arab.  In  a  few  minutes  Billy  returned  leading 
the  two  horses.  He  was  frightened  and  excited; 
and  he  burst  into  an  account  of  the  accident 
while  he  was  still  half  way  down  the  drive. 


A  USURPED  PREROGATIVE      235 

"It  wasn't  my  fault/'  he  called.  "Miss 
Ethel  said  it  was  n't  my  fault.  We  met  a 
mowing-machine  and  Apache  bolted.  He 
threw  the  boy  off  against  a  stone  wall,  and 
by  the  time  I  reached  'em,  Apache  was 
eating  grass  in  the  next  field  and  Master 
Bobby  lying  in  the  ditch  with  'is  head  cut 
open." 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  about  it,"  Peter 
returned  shortly.  "Put  them  horses  up  and 
get  out." 

He  himself  removed  Apache's  new  saddle 
and  bridle  and  drove  him  with  a  vicious  whack 
into  the  stall.  Billy  took  himself  off  to  find  a 
more  appreciative  audience,  while  Peter  dropped 
down  on  a  stool  inside  the  stable  door,  and 
with  his  chin  in  his  hands  sat  watching  the 
house.  He  saw  the  nurse  fling  wide  the  blinds 
of  Bobby's  room  and  roll  up  the  shades;  he 
wondered  with  a  choking  sensation  what  they 
were  doing  to  the  boy  that  they  needed  so  much 
light.  He  saw  Annie  come  out  and  hang  some 


236      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

towels  on  the  line.  The  whole  aspect  of  the 
place  to  Peter's  sharpened  senses  wore  an  air 
of  tragic  bustle.  No  one  came  near  to  tell 
him  how  the  boy  was  doing;  he  had  not  the 
courage  to  go  to  the  house  and  ask.  He  sat 
dumbly  waiting  for  something  to  happen  while 
twilight  faded  into  dusk.  One  of  the  stable- 
boys  came  to  call  him  to  supper  and  he  replied 
crossly  that  he  did  n't  want  any  supper.  Pres 
ently  he  heard  a  step  scrunching  on  the 
gravel,  and  he  looked  up  to  find  Annie  coming 
toward  him. 

"Is  —  is  he  dead?"  he  whispered. 

"  He  's  not  goin'  to  die.  He  's  feelin'  better 
now;  they  Ve  sewed  up  the  hole  in  his  head. 
The  doctor  did  it  with  a  thread  an'  needle 
just  like  you  'd  sew  a  dress.  He  took  ten 
stitches  an*  Master  Bobby  bled  awful.  He 
never  cried  once,  though;  he  just  got  whiter  an* 
whiter  an*  fainted  away.  Don't  feel  so  bad, 
Pete,  he  's  goin'  to  get  well." 

She  laid  her  hand  caressingly  on  his  hair  and 


A  USURPED  PREROGATIVE       237 

brushed  it  back  from  his  forehead.  He  caught 
her  hand  and  held  it. 

"  It 's  me  that 's  to  blame  for  his  gettin'  hurt. 
He  won't  never  speak  to  me  again." 

"Yes,  he  will;  he  's  wantin'  to  speak  to  you 
now.  They  sent  me  out  to  fetch  you/* 

"  Me  ? "  he  asked,  shrinking  back.  "  What 's 
he  wantin'  with  me  ?" 

"  He  's  been  out  of  his  head  an'  callin'  for 
you;  he  won't  go  to  sleep  till  he  sees  you. 
The  doctor  said  to  fetch  you  in.  Come  on." 

Annie's  manner  was  insistent  and  Peter  rose 
and  followed  her. 

"Here  he  is,"  she  whispered,  pushing  him 
ahead  of  her  into  the  darkened  room. 

Bobby  made  a  half  movement  to  turn  as  the 
door  creaked,  but  a  quick  pain  shot  through 
his  shoulder  and  he  fell  back  with  a  little  gasp. 

"Take  care,  Bobby,"  the  nurse  warned. 
"You  must  n't  move  or  you  will  hurt  that  bad 
arm."  Her  greeting  to  Peter  was  stern.  "You 
may  stay  five  minutes,  and  mind  you  don't  get 


238       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

him  excited ! "  She  bent  over  the  boy  to  loosen 
the  bandage  about  his  shoulder. 

"You  go  out/'  said  Bobby,  querulously.  "I 
want  to  see  Peter  alone." 

"Yes,  dear/'  she  patted  the  bedclothes 
indulgently.  "Remember,  five  minutes!"  she 
added  as  she  closed  the  door. 

The  two  left  alone  stared  at  each  other 
rather  consciously  for  a  moment.  They  both 
felt  that  the  occasion  demanded  something 
heroic  in  the  way  of  a  reconciliation,  but  it  was 
the  natural  instinct  of  each  to  fly  from  senti 
ment.  The  sight  of  Bobby's  pale  face  and 
bandaged  head,  however,  had  their  effect  on 
Peter's  already  overwrought  nerves. 

"I'm  a  blunderin*  fool!"  he  groaned.  "I 
don't  know  why  I  can't  never  learn  to  attend 
to  me  own  affairs.  If  I  'd  told  yer  father,  as 
was  me  dooty,  he  'd  never  uv  given  ye  that 
spotted  devil  of  a  horse." 

"You  are  n't  to  blame,  Pete.  I  guess  x  was 
hurt  for  more  punishment  'cause  I  did  n't  take 


A  USURPED  PREROGATIVE      239 

the  first  in  the  right  spirit."  He  fumbled  under 
his  pillow  and  drew  out  the  new  five-bladed 
knife.  "This  is  for  a  remembrance,  and  when 
ever  you  use  it  you  will  think  'it  was  me  that 
cured  Bobby  Carter  of  telling  lies/  ' 

Peter  received  the  gift  with  an  air  of  hesi 
tation. 

"  I  don't  like  to  take  it,"  he  said,  dubiously, 
"though  I  have  a  feelin'  that  perhaps  I  ought, 
for  with  five  blades  to  choose  from  ye  '11  be 
cuttin'  yer  blamed  young  throat  —  I  'd  hate 
to  be  the  cause  of  any  more  accidents."  He 
balanced  it  thoughtfully  in  his  palm.  "But 
I  'm  thinkin,"  he  added  softly,  "that  the  cork 
screw  might  be  doin*  as  much  damage  to  me 
as  the  five  blades  to  you." 

Bobby  grinned  appreciatively,  and  held  out 
his  uninjured  left  hand. 

"  Pete,"  he  said,  "  if  I  promise  never,  never  to 
tell  any  more  lies,  will  you  promise  never,  never 
to  use  that  corkscrew  ?" 

"It's  a  bargain!"  said  Peter,  grasping  the 


240      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

boy's  hand.  "And  I  'm  glad  that  we  're  friends 
again." 

They  stared  at  each  other  solemnly,  neither 
thinking  of  anything  further  to  add,  when  Peter 
suddenly  became  aware  of  the  ticking  of  the 
clock. 

"Holy  Saint  Patrick!"  he  ejaculated.  "Me 
five  minutes  was  up  five  minutes  ago.  I  must 
be  takin'  me  leave  or  that  commandin'  young 
woman  will  come  back  and  eject  me." 

He  moved  toward  the  door,  but  paused  to 
throw  over  his  shoulder: 

"  I  'd  already  promised  the  same  to  Annie,  so 
ye  need  n't  be  takin'  too  much  credit  to  yerself 
fer  me  conversion." 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE 


IX 

MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE 

AS  the  summer  wore  to  an  end,  the  course  of 
affairs  between  Peter  and  Annie  became  a 
matter  of  interested  comment  among  the  other 
servants.  They  had  all  seen  Peter  recover 
from  many  incipient  attacks  of  love,  but  this 
they  unanimously  diagnosed  as  the  real  thing. 
Joe  and  his  wife  talked  the  matter  over  upon 
his  return  from  the  hospital,  and  decided  that 
the  time  had  definitely  come  for  the  livery 
stable;  Peter,  in  all  fairness,  had  served  as 
groom  long  enough.  They  would  move  out  of 
the  coachman's  cottage  the  following  spring, 
and  give  the  young  people  a  chance.  Thus 
was  the  way  open  for  a  happy  conclusion,  and 
everyone  was  preparing  to  dance  at  the  wed 
ding,  except  Peter  and  Annie  themselves. 


244      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

They  alone  were  not  certain  as  to  the  outcome. 
Neither  was  quite  comfortably  sure  that  the 
other  was  in  earnest,  and  when  it  came  to  the 
point  they  were  both  a  little  shy.  Annie,  with 
laughing  eyes,  tempted  Peter  at  every  point, 
but  when  he  showed  a  disposition  to  control 
matters  himself,  she  precipitously  fled. 

The  two  were  standing  on  the  back  veranda 
one  moonlight  night,  and  Annie  was  engaged  in 
pointing  out  to  Peter  the  lady  in  the  moon. 
Peter  was  either  stubborn  or  stupid;  he  frankly 
declared  that  he  saw  no  "loidy,"  and  did  n't 
believe  there  was  one.  In  her  zeal  in  the  cause 
of  astronomy,  Annie  unwarily  bent  her  head 
too  near,  and  while  her  eyes  were  turned  to  the 
moon,  Peter  kissed  her.  She  slapped  him 
smartly,  as  a  well-brought-up  young  woman 
should,  and  fled  into  the  house  before  he  could 
catch  her.  Peter,  strong  in  his  new-found 
courage,  waited  about  in  the  hope  that  she 
would  reappear;  but  she  did  not,  and  he  finally 
took  himself  off  to  his  room  over  the  carriage- 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE          245 

house,  where  he  sat  by  the  window  gazing  out  at 
the  moonlight  for  two  hours  or  more  before  he 
remembered  to  go  to  bed.  The  slap  had  hurt 
neither  him  nor  his  feelings;  he  liked  her  the 
better  for  it.  She  was  n't  really  mad,  he 
reflected  happily,  for  she  had  laughed  as  she 
banged  the  door  in  his  face. 

The  next  morning  Peter  went  about  his  work 
with  a  singing  heart  and  many  a  glance  toward 
the  kitchen  windows.  He  swashed  water  over 
the  stable  floor  and  rubbed  down  the  horses 
with  a  mind  happily  intent  upon  what  he 
would  say  to  Annie  when  he  saw  her.  About 
ten  o'clock  Mrs.  Carter  ordered  the  victoria, 
but  as  the  carriage  horses  were  at  the  shop  be 
ing  shod,  Joe  sent  Peter  in  to  ask  if  Trixy  and 
the  phaeton  would  do  as  well. 

Peter  dropped  his  sponge  and  started  for 
the  house  at  exactly  the  wrong  moment  for 
his  future  peace  of  mind.  He  arrived  at  the 
kitchen  door  just  in  time  to  see  the  man  from 
the  grocery  put  his  packages  on  the  table  and 


246      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

his  arms  around  Annie,  and  kiss  her  with  a 
smack  that  resounded  through  the  room  and 
would,  to  Peter's  outraged  senses,  resound 
through  all  time.  Annie  turned  with  a  startled 
cry,  and  as  her  gaze  fell  upon  Peter,  her  face 
paled  before  the  look  in  his  eyes.  Without  a 
word  he  whirled  about  and  strode  back  to  the 
stables  with  white  lips  and  clenched  fists,  and 
murder  in  his  heart  for  the  grocer's  man.  He 
did  not  hear  what  Annie  said  to  him,  nor  did 
he  know  that  she  locked  herself  in  her  room 
and  cried;  what  he  did  know  was  that  she  had 
been  making  a  fool  of  him,  and  that  she  flirted 
with  every  man  who  came  along,  and  that 
that  was  n't  the  kind  of  a  girl  he  wanted 
to  do  with. 

Several  days  before,  as  Peter  was  driving  Mr. 
Lane,  who  was  visiting  at  Willowbrook  again, 
and  Master  Bobby  to  the  village,  Annie  had  been 
sweeping  the  front  veranda  as  they  passed, 
and  had  thrown  a  friendly  smile  in  the  direction 
of  the  cart.  The  smile  was  intended  for 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE          247 

Peter,  but  Mr.  Lane  had  caught  it,  and  had 
remarked  to  Bobby: 

"That's  a  deuced  pretty  maid  you've  got 
there." 

"Annie's  the  bulliest  maid  we  ever  had," 
Bobby  had  returned  appreciatively.  "She 
swipes  cake  for  me  when  Nora  is  n't  looking." 

But  Peter  had  frowned  angrily,  as  he  long 
ingly  sized  up  Mr.  Lane,  and  wished  he  were 
not  a  gentleman  so  that  he  could  punch  him. 
It  was  none  of  Mr.  Lane's  business  whether 
Annie  was  pretty  or  not. 

At  that  time  Annie  could  do  no  wrong,  and 
Peter  had  not  thought  of  blaming  her  for  Mr. 
Lane's  too-open  admiration,  but  now  he  wrath- 
fully  accused  her  of  trying  to  flirt  with  gentle 
men,  than  which,  in  Peter's  estimation,  she 
could  do  no  worse.  As  he  could  take  it  out 
of  neither  of  them  in  blood  —  which  his  soul 
thirsted  for  —  he  added  it  to  the  grocer's  score, 
and  his  fingers  fairly  itched  to  be  at  work. 
The  grocer  was  just  the  sort  of  man  that  he 


248       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

most  enjoyed  pummelling  —  big  and  florid, 
with  curling  hair,  a  black  moustache,  and  a 
dimple  in  his  chin. 

Annie,  after  her  contretemps  with  the  grocer, 
passed  a  miserable  day.  In  vain  she  tried  to 
get  a  word  with  Peter;  he  was  not  to  be  seen. 
Billy  was  the  groom  who  came  to  the  house 
on  all  further  errands  from  the  stables.  That 
evening  she  put  on  her  prettiest  frock  and  sat 
for  two  hours  on  the  top  step  of  the  back  veranda 
with  her  eyes  turned  expectantly  toward  the 
carriage-house,  and  then  she  went  to  bed  and 
cried.  Had  she  but  known  it,  Peter  was  in  a 
vacant  lot  back  of  Paddy  Callahan's  saloon, 
blissfully  remodelling  the  features  of  the  grocer's 
man. 

Annie  passed  a  wakeful  night,  and  the  next 
morning  she  swallowed  her  pride  and  went  to 
the  stables  in  the  hope  of  seeing  Peter  alone. 
Peter,  too,  in  spite  of  his  victory  of  the  even 
ing,  had  kept  vigil  through  the  night.  He  was 
listlessly  currying  one  of  the  carriage  horses 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE          249 

when  he  saw  Annie  leave  the  house  and  come 
slowly  down  the  walk  toward  the  stables.  His 
heart  suddenly  leaped  to  his  mouth,  but  a 
moment  later  he  was  bending  over  the  horse 
with  his  back  to  the  door,  whistling  as  merrily 
as  though  he  had  not  a  care  in  the  world. 
He  heard  Annie's  hesitating  step  on  the  thres 
hold,  and  he  smiled  grimly  to  himself  and 
whistled  the  louder. 

"  Pete,  I  'm  wantin*  to  speak  to  you,  if  ye  're 
not  busy." 

Peter  glanced  up  with  a  well-assumed  start  of 
surprise.  He  looked  Annie  over,  slowly  and 
deliberately,  and  then  turned  back  to  the  horse. 

"Aw,  but  I  am  busy,"  he  returned.  "Lift 
up!"  he  added  to  the  horse,  and  he  solicitously 
examined  her  foot. 

Annie  waited  patiently,  struggling  between 
a  sense  of  pride  which  urged  her  to  go  back 
and  never  speak  to  Peter  again,  and  a  sense  of 
shame  which  told  her  that  she  owed  him  an 
explanation. 


250       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"Pete,"  she  began,  and  there  was  a  little 
catch  in  her  voice  which  went  to  Peter's  heart; 
in  his  effort  to  resist  it  and  mete  out  due  pun 
ishment  for  all  the  misery  she  had  caused 
him,  he  was  harder  than  he  otherwise  would 
have  been.  "  Pete,  I  wanted  to  be  tellin'  ye 
that  it  was  n't  my  fault.  He  —  he  niver  kissed 
me  before,  and  I  did  n't  know  he  was  goin'  to 
then." 

Peter  shrugged. 

"Ye  need  n't  be  apologizin*  to  me.  I  ain't 
interested  in  yer  amoors.  If  ye  wants  to  be 
apologizin'  to  any  one  go  an*  do  it  to  his 
wife." 

"  His  wife  ?"  asked  Annie. 

"Aye,  his  wife  an'  his  three  childern." 

"  I  did  n't  know  he  was  married,"  said  Annie, 
flushing  again,  "but  'tis  no  difference,  for  it 
were  n't  my  fault.  I  niver  acted  a  bit  nicer  to 
him  than  to  anny  other  man,  an'  that  's  the 
truth." 

"Oh,  ye 're  a  lovely  girl,  ye  are!    Flirtin* 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE          251 

around  with  other  women's  husbands,  and 
lettin'  every  fool  that  comes  along  kiss  ye  if 
he  wants  to." 

"Ye  needn't  talk,"  cried   Annie.     "Ye  did 
it  yerself,  an'  ye  're  no  better  than  the  grocer 


man." 


"  An'  do  ye  think  I'd  a-done  it  if  I  had  n't 
knowed  ye  was  willin  ?" 

Annie  backed  against  the  wall,  and  with 
flushed  cheeks  and  blazing  eyes,  stared  at  him 
speechlessly,  angry  with  herself  at  her  powerless- 
ness  to  say  anything  that  would  hurt  him  enough. 
As  she  stood  there,  Master  Bobby  and  Mr.  Lane 
came  in  on  their  way  to  visit  the  kennels.  Mr. 
Lane  looked  curiously  from  the  angry  girl  to 
the  nonchalant  groom,  who  had  resumed  his 
work,  and  was  softly  whistling  under  his 
breath.  Master  Bobby,  being  intent  only  upon 
puppies,  passed  on  without  noticing  the  two, 
but  Mr.  Lane  glanced  back  over  his  shoul 
der  at  Annie's  pretty  flushed  face,  and  paused 
to  ask: 


252       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"  My  dear  girl,  has  that  fellow  been  annoying 
you  ?" 

"No,  no!'*  Annie  said  wildly.  "Go  away, 
Mr.  Lane,  please." 

Mr.  Lane  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  with 
a  laugh.  "Ah,  I  see!  A  lovers'  quarrel," 
and  he  followed  Master  Bobby. 

Peter  echoed  his  laugh,  and  in  a  tone  which 
would  have  justified  Mr.  Lane  in  knocking  him 
down  had  he  heard. 

"  So  ye  're  his  dear  girl  too,  are  ye  ?  He  's 
a  nice  gentleman,  he  is!  Ye  ought  to  be  proud 
o'  him." 

Annie  straightened  herself  with  her  head 
thrown  back. 

"  Peter  Malone,"  she  burst  out,  "  I  came  here 
to  'pologize,  'cause,  without  meanin*  any  harm, 
I  thought  as  I  'd  hurt  yer  feelin's  an'  was  owin* 
an  explanation.  I  niver  had  anything  to  do 
with  that  groc'ry  man  nor  any  other  man, 
an*  ye  know  it  as  true  as  ye  're  standin*  there. 
Instead  o*  believin'  what  I  say  like  a  gentleman 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE          253 

would,  ye  insult  me  worse  than  anybody  's  iver 
done  in  the  whole  o'  me  life,  an'  I  '11  niver 
speak  to  ye  again  as  long  as  I  live."  She 
choked  down  a  sob,  and  with  head  erect  turned 
and  walked  back  to  the  house. 

The  two  had  had  differences  before,  but  never 
anything  like  this.  Peter,  his  arms  dropped 
limply  at  his  side,  stood  watching  her  go, 
while  the  words  she  had  spoken  rang  in  his  ears. 
Suddenly  a  lump  rose  in  his  throat,  and  he 
leaned  his  head  against  the  horse's  neck. 

"  Lord !"  he  whispered.  "  What  have  I  done  ?" 

The  week  which  followed  was  one  of  outward 
indifference  and  inward  misery  to  both.  Annie 
mourned  when  alone,  but  under  the  eyes  of 
the  stables  she  flirted  openly  and  without  con 
science  with  one  of  the  painters  who  was 
opportunely  engaged  in  re-staining  the  shingle 
roof  of  the  Jasper  house.  Peter  watched  her 
with  a  heavy  heart,  and  formed  a  brave  de 
termination  never  to  think  of  her  again,  and 


254      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

ended  by  thinking  of  her  every  minute  of  the 
day.  He  made  one  awkward  attempt  at  recon 
ciliation  which  was  spurned,  whereupon  he, 
too,  plunged  into  a  reckless  flirtation  with 
Mary,  the  chambermaid,  who  was  fat,  and 
every  day  of  thirty-five.  As  neither  Peter  nor 
Annie  had  any  means  of  knowing  how  wretched 
this  treatment  was  making  the  other,  they 
got  very  little  comfort  from  it. 

Annie  sat  at  the  kitchen  table  polishing  silver 
with  a  sober  face.  It  was  six  days  since  the 
grocery  man's  historic  visit,  and  the  war  clouds 
showed  no  sign  of  lifting.  There  was  a  house 
ful  of  company  at  Willowbrook,  and  the  work 
was  mercifully  distracting.  Mary,  this  morn 
ing,  had  hung  a  long  row  of  blankets  and  cur 
tains  on  the  line  to  air,  for  the  sole  purpose, 
Annie  knew,  of  being  near  the  stables.  Peter 
was  visible  through  the  open  window,  greasing 
harness  in  the  carriage-house  doorway,  and 
exchanging  jocular  remarks  with  Mary.  Annie's 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE  255 

eyes  were  out  of  doors  oftener  than  upon 
her  work.  Nora,  who  was  sitting  on  the  back 
reranda  shelling  peas,  remarked  on  Peter's 
newly  awakened  interest  in  the  chambermaid, 
but  as  Annie  did  not  answer,  she  very  wisely 
changed  the  subject. 

"  I  guess  that  Mr.  Lane  what 's  visitin* 
here  has  got  a  heap  o*  money/'  she  called  in 
tentatively. 

"  I  guess  he  has,"  Annie  assented  indifferently. 

"He  seems  to  be  pretty  taken  up  with  Miss 
Ethel.  That  was  an  awful  becomin*  pink 
dress  she  had  on  last  night.  Mrs.  Carter 
would  be  pleased  all  right." 

Annie  received  this  remark  in  silence,  but 
Nora  was  not  to  be  discouraged.  She  felt  that 
this  new  freak  of  taciturnity  on  Annie's  part 
was  defrauding  her  of  her  rights.  A  maid 
whose  duties  call  her  to  the  front  part  of  the 
house  is  in  a  position  to  supply  more  accurate 
gossip  than  it  is  given  a  cook  to  know,  and  it 
is  her  business  to  supply  it. 


256      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"  Mr.  Harry  would  feel  awful,  havin'  growed 
up  with  her  like,"  Nora  continued.  "  He  's 
a  sight  the  best  lookin'  o'  the  two,  and  I  'm 
thinkin'  Miss  Ethel  knows  it.  It  ud  be  con 
venient,  too,  havin'  the  places  joined.  The 
Jaspers  has  got  money  enough,  an'  him  the 
only  son.  I  guess  they  would  n't  starve  if  she 
did  marry  him.  I  Ve  always  noticed  't  is  the 
people  who  has  the  most  money  as  needs  the 
most.  I  don't  think  much  o'  that  Mr.  Lane," 
she  added. 

Annie  suddenly  woke  up. 

"  I  don't  neither.     'T  is  too  fresh  he  is." 

"That's  what  I'm  thinkin'  meself,"  said 
Nora,  cordially.  "An'  I  guess  so  does  Mr. 
Harry.  I  'm  after  observin'  that  he  has  n't 
been  around  much  since  Mr.  Lane  's  been  here." 

Annie's  mind  had  wandered  again.  Her 
own  affairs  were  requiring  so  much  attention 
lately  that  Miss  Ethel's  were  no  longer  a  source 
of  interest.  Out  in  the  stable  Peter  was  pro 
claiming,  in  tones  calculated  to  reach  the 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE          257 

kitchen,  "  There  's  only  one  girl  in  this  world 
for  me."  Annie's  lip  quivered  slightly  as  she 
heard  him;  a  week  before  she  had  laughed  at 
the  same  song,  but  as  affairs  stood  now,  it  was 
insulting. 

The  peas  finished,  Nora  gathered  the  yellow 
bowl  under  her  arm  and  returned  to  the  kitchen, 
where  she  concentrated  her  attention  upon 
Annie  and  the  silver. 

"I'm  thinkin'  ye  must  be  in  love!"  she 
declared.  "  Ye  've  cleaned  that  same  spoon  three 
times  while  I  Ve  been  watchin',  an'  ye  did  n't 
count  the  plates  right  last  night  for  dinner, 
an'  ye  forgot  to  give  'em  any  butter  for  break 
fast." 

Annie  blushed  guiltily  at  this  damning  array 
of  evidence,  and  then  she  laughed.  "If  it 's  in 
love  I  am  whiniver  I  forget  things,  then  I  must 
a-been  in  love  since  I  was  out  o'  the  cradle." 

"An'  there  's  him  as  would  be  in  love  with 
you,  if  ye  'd  only  act  dacent  to  him  —  and 
I  Jm  not  meanin'  the  painter." 


258       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

Annie  chose  to  overlook  this  remark,  and 
Nora's  sociability  was  suppressed  by  the 
entrance  of  Mrs.  Carter. 

"We  have  decided  to  have  a  picnic  supper  at 
the  beach  to-night,  Nora,"  she  said.  "You 
will  not  have  to  get  dinner  for  anyone  but  Mr. 
Carter." 

"Very  well,  ma'am." 

"I  am  sorry  that  it  happens  on  your  after 
noon  out,  Annie,"  she  added,  turning  to  the 
maid,  "but  I  shall  need  you  at  the  picnic  to 
help  about  serving." 

"Certainly,  ma'am,"  said  Annie.  "I  don't 
care  about  goin*  out  anyway." 

"We  shall  start  early  in  the  afternoon,  but 
I  want  you  to  wait  and  help  Nora  with  the 
sandwiches,  and  then  Peter  can  drive  you  out 
about  six  o'clock  in  the  dog-cart." 

Annie's  face  clouded  precipitously. 

"Please,  ma'am,"  she  stammered,  "I  think 

—  that  is,  if  ye  please "  she  hesitated  and 

looked  about  desperately.  "  I  'm  afraid  if 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE         259 

ye  're  after  wantin'  coffee,  I  can't  make  it  right. 
I  'm  niver  sure  o'  me  coffee  two  times  running 
and  I  should  hate  to  be  spoilin'  it  when  there  's 
company.  If  ye  could  take  Nora  instead  o* 
me,  ma'am,  I  could  just  be  gettin'  the  lovely 
dinner  for  Mr.  Carter  when  he  comes." 

"Why,  Annie,"  she  remonstrated,  "you  Ve 
always  made  excellent  coffee  before,  and  Nora 
does  n't  wait  on  the  table.  Is  it  because  you 
want  to  go  out  this  afternoon  ?  I  am  sorry, 
but  you  will  have  to  wait  until  Miss  Ethel's 
guests  have  gone." 

"No,  ma'am,"  said  Annie,  hastily,  "I'm 
not  wantin'  the  afternoon,  an'  it 's  willin'  I  am 
to  help  Miss  Ethel,  only  —  only  —  will  you 
tell  Peter,  ma'am,  about  the  cart  ?"  she  fin 
ished  lamely,  "'cause  if  I  tell  him  he's  likely 
to  be  late." 

Mrs.  Carter  passed  out  of  the  kitchen  door 
and  crossed  the  lawn  toward  the  stables,  cast 
ing  meanwhile  a  sharp  eye  about  the  premises 
to  be  sure  that  all  was  as  it  should  be.  Mary 


260      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

was  shaking  blankets  with  an  air  of  deep 
absorption;  Peter  was  industriously  cleaning  the 
already  clean  harness,  and  Joe  could  be  heard 
inside  officiously  telling  Billy  to  grease  the  other 
wheel  and  be  quick  about  it.  Unless  Mrs. 
Carter  approached  very  quietly  indeed,  she 
always  found  her  servants  oblivious  to  every 
thing  but  their  several  duties.  As  she  drew 
near  the  doorway,  Peter  rose  from  the  harness 
and  respectfully  touched  his  cap  with  a  very 
dirty  hand,  while  the  coachman,  with  a  final 
order  over  his  shoulder  to  a  brow-beaten 
stable-boy,  came  forward  hastily,  and  stood  at 
attention. 

"Joe,  we  are  going  to  have  a  picnic  at  the 
beach  this  afternoon,  and  I  want  you  to 
have  the  horses  ready  at  three  o'clock.  Miss 
Ethel,  Mr.  Lane,  and  Master  Bobby  will 
ride,  and  you  will  drive  the  rest  of  us  in  the 
waggonette." 

"Very  well,  ma'am,"  said  Joe. 

"And  Peter,"    she  added,    turning    to    the 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE          261 

groom,  "I  want  you  to  bring  out  the  supper 
with  Trixy  and  the  dog-cart  at  five  o'clock." 

"All    right,    ma'am,"    said    Peter,    saluting. 

"Be  sure  to  be  on  time,"  she  warned.  "Stop 
at  the  kitchen  for  Annie  and  the  hampers 
promptly  at  five." 

Peter's  face  suddenly  darkened.  He  drew 
his  mouth  into  a  straight  line,  and  looked  sul 
lenly  down  at  the  harness.  "Beggin*  yer 
pardon,  ma'am,"  he  mumbled,  "I  don't 

think  —  that  is "  He  scowled  defiance  at 

Joe,  who  grinned  back  appreciatively.  "If 
it 's  just  the  same  to  ye,  ma'am,  I  'd  like  to 
drive  the  waggonette  an'  let  Joe  fetch  the  lunch. 
If  I  'm  to  be  coachman,  ma'am,  I  'd  sort  of 
like  to  get  used  to  me  dooties  before  he  goes." 

Mrs.  Carter  was  frankly  puzzled;  she  could 
not  imagine  what  had  suddenly  got  into  her 
servants  this  morning.  A  lady  who  has  a 
grown  daughter,  of  some  attractions  and  many 
admirers,  to  chaperone,  cannot  be  expected  to 
keep  au  courant  of  her  servants'  love  affairs. 


262      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"  You  have  had  a  month  in  which  to  get  used 
to  your  duties  while  Joe  was  in  the  hospital; 
that  is  sufficient  for  the  present.  Joe  will 
drive  the  waggonette  and  you  will  follow 
with  the  supper  —  I  wish  you  to  help  Tom 
put  new  netting  in  the  screen-doors  this 
afternoon/* 

Her  tone  precluded  argument.  As  soon  as 
she  was  out  of  hearing,  Joe  remarked  softly, 
"  Now,  if  she  'd  only  said  Mary  instead  of 
Annie  I  'spose " 

"Aw,  let  up,"  Peter  growled,  and  he  fell 
to  rubbing  in  the  grease  with  unnecessary 
vehemence.  His  misunderstanding  with  Annie 
was  a  subject  he  would  stand  no  fooling  about, 
even  from  his  chief. 

At  five  o'clock,  Peter,  in  a  spotless  top-hat 
and  shining  boots,  looking  as  stiff  as  if  he 
were  clothed  in  steel  armour,  drew  up  before  the 
kitchen  door  and  piled  the  hampers  and  pails 
he  found  on  the  back  veranda  onto  the  seat 
beside  him.  He  climbed  to  the  box  again 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE          263 

with  an  air  of  finality,  and  gathering  his  reins 
together  made  a  feint  of  starting. 

"Peter!"  Nora  called  from  the  kitchen  win 
dow.  "  Where  is  it  ye  're  goin*  ?  Wait  for 
Annie." 

"Annie?"  Peter  looked  as  if  he  had  never 
heard  the  name  before. 

"Yes,  Annie.  Did  ye  think  ye  was  to  cook 
the  supper  yerself  ?" 

"I  did  n't  think  nothin',"  said  Peter.  "Me 
orders  was  to  stop  for  the  lunch  at  five  o'clock, 
an*  I  done  it.  If  she  wants  to  come  along  she  '11 
have  to  sit  on  the  back  seat.  I  ain't  a  goin' 
to  change  these  baskets  again." 

Annie  appeared  in  the  doorway  in  time  to 
hear  this  ungracious  speech;  she  clambered 
up  to  the  somewhat  uncomfortable  footman's 
seat  in  silence,  and  they  drove  off  back  to  back, 
as  stiff  as  twin  ramrods. 

The  cart  rolled  along  over  the  smooth  roads, 
past  country  clubs  and  summer  cottages,  and 
the  only  sign  either  of  the  two  gave  of  being 


264      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

alive  was  an  occasional  vicious  crack  of  the 
whip  from  Peter  when  patient  little  Trixy 
showed  signs  of  wishing  to  take  a  quieter 
pace.  At  such  times  Annie  would  instinctively 
stretch  out  a  deterring  hand  and  form  her 
mouth  as  if  to  say,  "  Please,  Pete,  don't  whip 
her;  she  's  doin*  her  best,"  and  then  suddenly 
remembering  that  formidable  vow,  would 
straighten  up  again  and  stare  ahead  with 
flushed  cheeks. 

The  beach  was  five  miles  away,  and  there  is  an 
element  of  ludicrousness  in  the  spectacle  of 
two  people  in  one  small  dog-cart  riding  five 
miles  without  speaking.  Annie's  sense  of 
humour  was  keen;  it  struggled  hard  with  her 
sense  of  wrong.  She  was  never  an  Indian  to 
cherish  vengeance;  her  anger  could  be  fierce 
at  the  moment,  but  it  rarely  lasted.  And 
Peter  was  sorry  for  what  he  had  said,  she 
reminded  herself;  he  had  already  tried  to  make 
up.  By  the  end  of  the  second  mile  two  dim 
ples  appeared  in  her  cheeks.  At  the  third  mile 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE          265 

she  shut  her  mouth  tight  to  keep  a  laugh  from 
escaping.  At  the  fourth  mile  she  spoke. 

"Say,  Pete,  why  don't  ye  talk  to  me?  Are 
ye  mad  ?" 

Peter  had  been  gazing  at  Trixy's  ears  with 
an  air  of  deep  preoccupation,  and  he  came  back 
to  the  present  with  a  start  of  surprise,  appar 
ently  amazed  at  finding  that  he  had  a  compan 
ion  in  the  cart. 

"Ma'am?"   he   said. 

Annie  glanced  around  at  his  uncompro 
mising  back. 

"  Why  don't  ye  say  somethin*  ?"  she  repeated 
more  faintly. 

"I  ain't  got  nothin'  to  say." 

Annie's  dimples  gave  way  to  an  angry  flush. 
Never,  never,  never  again  would  she  say  a  thing 
to  him  as  long  as  she  lived.  The  remainder 
of  the  drive  was  passed  in  a  tumultuous  silence. 
Peter,  with  grim  mouth,  kept  his  unseeing  eyes 
on  the  road  in  front,  and  Annie,  with  burning 
cheeks,  stared  behind  at  the  cloud  of  dust. 


266      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

When  the  cart  arrived  among  the  straggling 
cedar  trees  which  bordered  the  beach,  they 
found  drawn  up  beside  the  Carter  horses,  Mr. 
Harry's  hunter  and  a  strange  drag  which 
betokened  impromptu  guests.  Annie  had  barely 
time  to  wonder  if  the  plates  would  go  around 
and  if  there  would  be  salad  enough,  when  the 
cart  was  welcomed  with  joyful  shouts  by  a 
crowd  of  hungry  picnickers.  She  caught  a 
glimpse  on  the  edge  of  the  group  of  Miss  Ethel, 
debonair  and  smiling,  in  another  new  dress, 
with  Mr.  Lane  scowling  on  one  side  of  her  and 
Mr.  Harry  on  the  other.  Ordinarily,  she 
would  have  taken  a  lively  interest  in  such  a 
situation,  and  would  have  had  an  appreciative 
fellow-feeling  for  Miss  Ethel ;  but  she  saw  it  now 
with  an  unhappy  sense  that  the  blessings  of 
this  world  in  the  shape  of  dresses  and  men  are 
unevenly  distributed. 

Annie  usually  accepted  the  pranks  of  the 
young  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  good  part,  no 
matter  how  much  extra  trouble  they  caused; 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE          267 

but  to-day  as  she  caught  a  plundering  hand  on 
one  of  the  hampers,  she  called  out  sharply: 

"Master  Bobby,  you  let  that  cake  alonel 
Them  olives  are  for  supper." 

A  general  laugh  greeted  this  outburst,  and 
she  turned  away  and  began  unpacking  dishes 
with  a  bitter  feeling  of  rebellion.  Mrs.  Carter 
bustled  up,  and  having  driven  off  the  marau 
ders,  briskly  took  command. 

"Now,  Peter,  as  soon  as  you  have  hitched 
Trixy,  come  back  and  help  about  the  supper. 
Annie  will  tell  you  what  to  do." 

Annie  cheered  up  slightly  at  this,  and  for 
the  moment  waived  the  letter  of  her  vow.  As 
Peter  reluctantly  reappeared,  she  ordered: 
"Get  a  pile  o'  drift  wood  and  fix  a  place  for 
the  fire.  Them  are  too  big,"  she  commented, 
as  he  returned  with  an  armful  of  sticks.  "  Get 
some  little  pieces  and  be  quick  about  it;  you  're 
too  slow." 

Peter  looked  mutinous,  but  the  eyes  of  Mrs. 
Carter  were  upon  him,  and  he  obeyed. 


268       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

"Now,  take  those  two  pails  and  go  to  the 
farm-house  for  water,"  Annie  ordered. 

When  he  returned  with  the  two  heavy  pails, 
cross  and  splashed,  she  fished  out  a  bug  or  two 
with  an  air  of  dissatisfaction,  and  told  him  to 
build  the  fire.  Peter  built  the  fire,  and,  at 
Annie's  suggestion,  held  the  coffee-pot  to  keep  it 
steady.  He  burnt  his  hands,  and  swore  softly 
under  his  breath,  and  Annie  laughed.  Mrs. 
Carter,  having  started  preparations,  suddenly 
recalled  her  duties  as  hostess  and  hurried  off 
again,  leaving  Annie  to  superintend  the 
remainder  alone. 

"Here,  Peter,"  said  Annie,  "I  want  ye  to 
open  these  cans  o'  sardines." 

Peter  looked  after  the  retreating  figure  of 
Mrs.  Carter.  She  was  well  out  of  hearing;  he 
took  from  his  pocket  a  cigarette  and  leisurely 
regarded  it. 

"  I  want  these  cans  opened,"  Annie  repeated 
more  sharply. 

Peter  lighted  his  cigarette. 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE          269 

"I  '11  tell  Mrs.  Carter  if  ye  don't." 

Peter  threw  himself  down  on  the  grass,  and 
blowing  a  ring  of  smoke,  looked  dreamily  off 
toward  the  ocean. 

Mrs.  Carter  showed  no  signs  of  coming  back, 
and  Annie  saw  that  her  brief  dominion  was 
over.  She  picked  up  the  can-opener  and 
jabbed  it  viciously  into  the  tin.  It  slipped  and 
cut  an  ugly  gash  in  her  finger.  She  uttered 
a  little  cry  of  pain,  and  turned  pale  at  sight  of 
the  blood,  and  Peter  laughed.  She  turned 
her  back  to  keep  him  from  seeing  the  tears  of 
anger  that  filled  her  eyes,  and  for  the  third 
time  she  solemnly  swore  never,  never,  never 
to  speak  to  him  again. 

The  two  served  the  supper  with  the  same 
grim  silence  behind  the  scenes  that  they 
exhibited  before  the  guests.  When  it  was  over, 
instead  of  eating  with  Joe  and  Peter,  Annie  com 
menced  gathering  up  the  dishes  and  repacking 
them  in  the  hampers  ready  for  departure. 
The  two  men  laughed  and  joked  between 


2yo      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

themselves,  without  taking  any  notice  of  her 
absence,  and  Annie  angrily  told  herself  that  she 
would  n't  speak  to  Joe  any  more,  either. 
Just  as  she  had  everything  packed  and  was 
comforting  herself  with  the  thought  that  she 
would  soon  be  back  home,  and  the  miserable 
day  would  be  ended,  Mrs.  Carter  reappeared. 

"Your  coffee  was  excellent,  Annie,"  she  said, 
pleasantly,  "and  you  and  Peter  served  very 
nicely  indeed.  And  now,  instead  of  going  home, 
I  should  like  to  have  you  wait  and  make  some 
lemonade  to  be  served  later  in  the  evening.  It 
will  be  a  beautiful  moonlight  night,  and  you 
and  Peter  can  stay  and  enjoy  yourselves." 

"Very  well,  ma'am,"  said  Annie,  dully. 

Peter,  at  this  news,  lighted  another  cigar 
ette  and  strolled  off  with  Joe,  while  Annie,  who 
was  growing  apathetic  under  a  culmination  of 
troubles,  busied  herself  in  making  the  lemon 
ade,  and  then  sat  down  by  her  baskets  to  wait. 
She  could  see  through  the  gathering  dusk  the 
merry  crowd  upon  the  beach,  as  they  scattered 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE          271 

about  gathering  driftwood  for  a  fire.  She 
heard  every  now  and  then,  above  the  sound  of 
the  waves,  a  gay  shout  of  laughter,  and,  nearer 
at  hand,  the  restless  stamping  of  the  horses.  She 
turned  her  back  to  the  beach  half  pettishly,  and 
sat  watching  Mr.  Harry's  sorrel  as  he  nervously 
tossed  his  head  and  switched  his  tail,  trying  to 
keep  off  the  sand  flies.  From  that  she  fell 
to  wondering  how  Mr.  Harry  happened  to  be 
there,  and  what  Mr.  Lane  thought  about  it, 
and  if  there  would  be  a  fight.  There  probably 
would  not,  she  reflected,  with  some  regret,  for 
gentlemen  did  not  always  fight  when  they 
should.  (She  had  heard  through  the  butcher's 
boy  the  story  of  Peter's  prowess,  and  the  knowl 
edge  had  given  some  slight  comfort.)  Her 
reflections  were  suddenly  interrupted  by  the 
sound  of  steps  crashing  toward  her  through 
the  underbrush,  and  she  looked  up  with  a  fast- 
beating  heart.  Her  first  thought  was  that  it 
was  Peter  coming  to  make  up,  and  she  re 
solutely  stiffened  herself  to  withstand  him, 


272      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

but  a  second  glance  showed  her  that  it  was 
Mr.  Lane. 

"Where's   Joe?"   he   demanded. 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Lane." 

"Where's  Peter,  then?" 

"  I  don't  know.  The  two  o*  them  has  n't 
been  here  since  supper." 

"Well,  damn  it!  I  've  got  to  find  some  one." 
Mr.  Lane  was  evidently  excited.  "See  here, 
Annie,"  he  said,  "you  're  a  good  girl.  Just 
give  a  message  to  Mrs.  Carter  from  me,  will 
you,  please  ?  Tell  her  a  boy  rode  out  on  a 
bicycle  with  a  telegram  calling  me  back  to  New 
York  immediately,  and  I  had  to  ride  back  to 
the  house  without  finding  her  in  order  to  catch 
the  ten-o'clock  train.  Don't  say  anything  to 
Miss  Ethel,  and  here  's  something  to  buy  a 
new  dress.  Good-bye." 

"Thank  you,  sir.     Good-bye." 

He  hastily  rebuckled  his  horse's  bridle,  led 
him  into  the  lane  out  of  sight  of  the  beach,  and 
mounted  and  galloped  off.  Annie  looked  after 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE          273 

him  with  wide  eyes;  his  bearing  was  not  very 
jaunty;  she  wondered  if  Mr.  Harry  had  whipped 
him.  It  did  not  seem  likely,  for  Mr.  Lane 
was  the  larger  of  the  two;  but  for  the  matter 
of  that,  she  reflected,  so  was  the  grocer's  man 
larger  than  Peter.  She  did  not  understand 
it,  but  she  slipped  the  bill  into  her  pocket 
with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders.  She  could 
afford  to  be  philosophic  over  other  people's 
troubles. 

It  was  growing  dark  in  among  the  trees  and 
she  was  beginning  to  feel  very  lonely.  A  big 
red  moon  was  rising  over  the  water,  and  a  bright 
fire  was  crackling  on  the  beach.  The  sound 
of  singing  was  mingled  with  the  beating  of  the 
surf.  Annie  wandered  out  from  the  shadow 
of  the  trees  and  strolled  up  the  beach  away  from 
the  camp-fire  and  the  singers.  Presently  she 
dropped  down  in  the  shadow  of  a  sand  dune 
and  sat  with  her  chin  in  her  hands  pensively 
watching  the  black  silhouettes  against  the  fire. 
By  and  by  she  saw  two  figures  strolling  along 


274      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

the  beach  in  her  direction.  She  recognized 
them  as  Miss  Ethel  and  Mr.  Harry,  and  she 
crouched  down  behind  the  dune  until  they 
passed.  She  felt  lonelier  than  ever  as  she 
watched  them  disappear,  and  the  first  thing 
she  knew,  she  had  buried  her  head  in  her  arms 
and  was  crying  to  herself  —  but  not  very  hard, 
for  she  was  mindful  of  the  ride  home,  and  she 
did  not  wish  to  make  her  eyes  red.  Not  for 
the  world  would  she  have  let  Peter  know  that 
she  felt  unhappy. 

Suddenly  into  the  midst  of  her  misery  came 
the  sound  of  scrunching  sand  and  the  smell 
of  cigarette  smoke.  Then,  without  looking 
up,  she  felt  that  some  one  was  standing  over 
her  and  that  that  some  one  was  Peter.  She 
held  her  breath  and  waited  like  a  little  ostrich, 
with  her  head  burrowed  into  the  sand. 

Peter  it  was,  and  a  mighty  struggle  was 
going  on  within  his  breast,  but  love  is  stronger 
than  pride,  and  his  Irish  heart  conquered  in 
the  end. 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE          275 

He  bent  over  and  touched  her  shoulder  lightly. 

"Annie!"  he  whispered. 

She  held  her  breath  and  kept  her  face  hidden. 

He  dropped  on  his  knee  in  the  sand  beside 
her.  ''Annie,  darlin',  don't  be  cryin'.  Tell 
me  what 's  the  trouble."  He  forcibly  trans 
ferred  her  head  from  the  sand  bank  to  his 
shoulder,  and  her  tears  trickled  down  his 
neck.  "  Is  it  yer  finger  that 's  hurtin'  ye  ?" 

She  raised  a  tear-stained  face  with  a  quick 
smile  quivering  through  at  this  purely  masculine 
suggestion. 

"  It 's  not  me  finger;  it 's  me  feelin's,"  she 
breathed  into  his  ear.  Peter  tightened  his 
arms  around  her.  "  But  they  're  not  hurtin' 
any  more,"  she  added  with  a  little  laugh. 

"An'  this  time  we  '11  be  friends  f'r  always  ?" 

She  nodded. 

"  Gee ! "  he  whispered.  "  I  've  been  spendin* 
the  week  in  hell  thinkin'  ye  did  n't  care  nothin' 
for  me." 

"So  uv  I,"  said  Annie. 


276      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

As  they  sat  watching  the  rippling  path  of 
moonlight  on  the  water,  from  far  down  the 
beach  they  could  hear  the  voices  singing,  "  It 's 
the  spring  time  of  life  and  the  world  is  all  before 
us."  Annie  laughed  happily  as  she  listened. 

"I  was  wishin*  a  while  ago  that  I  was  Miss 
Ethel  'cause  she  has  everything  she  wants, 
but  I  don't  wish  it  any  more.  She  has  n't 
got  you,  Petey." 

"And  I'm  thinkin'  she  isn't  wantin'  me," 
said  Peter,  with  his  eyes  on  the  beach  above 
them,  where  Miss  Ethel  and  Mr.  Harry  were 
coming  toward  them  hand  in  hand.  The  two 
stopped  suddenly  as  they  caught  sight  of  Annie 
and  Peter  and  hastily  dropped  each  others' 
hands.  Then  Miss  Ethel  ran  forward  with 
a  conscious  little  laugh. 

"Annie,  you  shall  be  the  first  to  congratulate 
me  —  but  it's  a  secret;  you  mustn't  tell  a 
soul." 

Annie  looked  back  with  shining  eyes.  "I  'm 
engaged,  too,"  she  whispered. 


MRS.  CARTER  AS  FATE          277 

"You  dear!"  said  Miss  Ethel,  and  she  put 
her  arm  around  her  and  kissed  her. 

Peter  and  Mr.  Harry  stood  a  moment  eyeing 
each  other  awkwardly,  then  they  reached  out 
across  the  gulf  that  separated  them  and  shook 
hands. 


A  PARABLE  FOR  HUSBANDS 


A   PARABLE    FOR    HUSBANDS 

BLUE  GIPSY'S  filly  had  broken  two 
pairs  of  shafts,  kicked  a  hole  through  a 
dash-board,  and  endeavoured  to  take  a  fence 
carriage  and  all,  in  a  fixed  determination  not 
to  become  a  harness-horse.  It  was  evident 
that  she  had  chosen  her  career  and  meant  to 
stick  to  it. 

"  Break  her  to  the  shafts  if  you  have  to  half 
kill  her,"  Mr.  Harry  had  said,  but  there  were 
some  things  that  Mr.  Harry  did  not  under 
stand  so  well  as  Peter. 

"Where  's  the  use  in  spoilin'  a  good  jumper 
for  the  sake  o*  makin'  a  poor  drivin*  horse  ? " 
Peter  had  asked  the  trainer,  and  he  had  added 
that  the  master  was  talking  through  his  hat. 

Peter  had  already  explained  the  matter  to 

281 


282      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

Mr.  Harry,  but  Mr.  Harry  was  very  much 
like  the  filly;  when  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
he  did  not  like  to  change.  Peter  decided  to 
talk  it  over  once  mote,  however,  before  he 
risked  another  groom.  The  first  groom  had 
dislocated  his  shoulder,  and  he  refused  to 
have  any  further  intercourse  with  Blue 
Gypsy's  filly. 

Poor  Peter  felt  himself  growing  old  under 
the  weight  of  his  responsibilities.  Three  years 
before  he  had  been  a  care-free  groom  at  Willow- 
brook;  now,  since  Miss  Ethel  had  married 
Mr.  Harry,  he  was  coachman  at  Jasper  Place, 
with  seven  horses  and  three  men  under  him. 
Occasionally  he  gazed  rather  wistfully  across 
the  meadow  to  where  the  Willowbrook  stables 
showed  a  red  blur  through  the  gray-green 
trees.  He  had  served  there  eleven  years  as 
stable-boy  and  groom,  and  though  he  had  more 
than  once  tasted  the  end  of  a  strap  under  Joe's 
vigorous  dominion,  it  had  been  a  happily 
irresponsible  life.  Not  that  he  wished  the  old 


A  PARABLE  FOR  HUSBANDS     283 

time  back,  for  that  would  mean  that  there 
would  be  no  Annie  waiting  supper  for  him  at 
night  in  the  coachman's  cottage,  but  he  did 
wish  sometimes  that  Mr.  Harry  had  a  little 
more  common  sense  about  managing  horses. 
Blue  Gypsy's  filly  trotting  peaceably  between 
shafts!  It  was  in  her  blood  to  jump,  and  jump 
she  would;  you  might  as  well  train  a  bull  pup 
to  grow  up  a  Japanese  poodle  and  sleep  on  a 
satin  cushion. 

Peter,  pondering  the  matter,  strolled  over  to 
the  kitchen  and  inquired  of  Ellen  where  Mr. 
Harry  was.  Mr.  Harry  was  in  the  library,, 
she  said,  and  Peter  could  go  right  through. 

The  carpet  was  soft,  and  he  made  no  noise. 
He  did  not  mean  to  listen,  but  he  had  almost 
reached   the   library   door   before   he   realized 
and  then  he  stood  still,  partly  because  he  was 
dazed,  and  partly  because  he  was  interested. 

He  did  not  know  what  had  gone  before,  but 
the  first  thing  he  heard  was  Miss  Ethel's  voice,. 
and  though  he  could  not  see  her,  he  knew  from 


284       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

the  tone  what  she  looked  like,  with  her  head 
thrown  back  and  her  chin  up  and  her  eyes 
flashing. 

"I  am  the  best  judge  of  my  own  actions," 
she  said,  "and  I  shall  receive  whom  I  please. 
You  always  put  the  wrong  interpretation  on 
everything  I  do,  and  I  am  tired  of  your  inter 
fering.  If  you  would  go  away  and  leave  me 
alone  it  would  be  best  for  us  both  —  I  feel 
sometimes  as  though  I  never  wanted  to  see 
you  again." 

Then  a  long  silence,  and  finally  the  cold, 
repressed  tones  of  her  husband  asked:  "Do 
you  mean  that  ?" 

She  did  not  answer,  except  by  a  long  indrawn 
sob  of  anger.  Peter  had  heard  that  sound 
before,  when  she  was  a  child,  and  he  knew  how 
.it  ought  to  be  dealt  with;  but  Mr.  Harry  did 
not;  he  was  far  too  polite. 

After  another  silence  he  said  quietly:  "If 
I  go,  I  go  to  stay  —  a  long  time." 

"Stay  forever,  if  you  like." 


A  PARABLE  FOR  HUSBANDS     285 

Peter  turned  and  tiptoed  out,  feeling  unhappy 
and  ashamed,  as  he  had  felt  that  other  time 
when  he  had  overheard.  He  went  back  to  the 
stables,  and  sitting  down  with  his  elbows  on 
his  knees  and  his  head  in  his  hands,  he  pondered 
the  situation.  If  he  were  Mr.  Harry  for  just 
ten  minutes,  he  told  himself  fiercely,  he  would 
soon  settle  things;  but  Mr.  Harry  did  not 
understand.  When  it  came  to  managing  horses 
he  was  too  rough,  as  if  they  had  no  sense;  and 
when  it  came  to  managing  women,  he  was  too 
easy,  as  if  they  were  all  sense.  Peter  sighed 
miserably.  His  heart  ached  for  them  both: 
for  Miss  Ethel,  because  he  knew  that  she  did 
not  mean  what  she  said,  and  would  later  be 
sorry;  for  Mr.  Harry,  because  he  knew  that  he 
did  mean  what  he  said  —  terribly  and  earnestly. 
Neither  understood  the  other,  and  it  was  all 
such  a  muddle  when  just  a  little  common  sense 
would  have  made  everything  happy.  Then  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  told  himself  that 
it  was  none  of  his  business;  that  he  guessed 


286      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

they  could  make  up  their  quarrels  without 
help  from  him.  And  he  fell  to  scolding  the 
stable-boy  for  mixing  up  the  harness. 

In  about  half  an  hour,  Oscar,  the  valet, 
came  running  out  to  the  stables  looking  pleased 
and  excited,  with  an  order  to  get  the  runabout 
ready  immediately  to  go  to  the  station.  Oscar 
was  evidently  bursting  with  news,  but  Peter 
pretended  not  to  be  interested,  and  kept  on 
with  his  work  without  looking  up. 

"  The  master  's  going  in  to  New  York  and 
I  follow  to-night  with  his  things,  and  to-morrow 
we  sail  for  England !  Maybe  we  '11  go  from 
there  on  a  hunting  trip  to  India  —  I  'm  to  pack 
the  guns.  There  's  been  trouble,"  he  added 
significantly.  "  Mrs.  Jasper 's  in  her  room 
with  the  door  banged  shut,  and  the  master  is 
pretty  quiet  and  white-like  about  the  gills." 

"Shut  up  an'  mind  yer  own  business,"  Peter 
snapped,  and  he  led  out  the  horses  and  began 
putting  on  the  harness  with  hands  that  trembled. 

As  he  drew  up  at  the  stepping-stone,  Mr. 


A  PARABLE  FOR  HUSBANDS      287 

Harry  jumped  in.  "Well,  Peter,'*  he  said, 
in  a  voice  which  was  meant  to  be  cheerful,  but 
was  a  very  poor  imitation,  "we  must  drive 
fast  if  we  're  to  make  the  four-thirty  train." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Peter,  briskly  clicking  to 
the  horses,  and  for  once  he  thanked  his  stars 
that  the  station  was  four  miles  away.  A  great 
resolve  had  beeen  growing  in  his  mind,  and 
it  required  some  time  and  a  good  deal  of  courage 
to  carry  it  out.  He  glanced  sideways  at  the 
grim,  pale  face  beside  him,  and  cleared  his 
throat  uneasily. 

"  Beggin'  yer  pardon,"  he  began,  "  I  was 
at  the  library  door  to  ask  about  the  filly,  an* 
without  meanin'  to,  I  heard  why  you  was 
goin'  away." 

A  quick  flush  spread  over  Mr.  Harry's  face, 
and  he  glanced  angrily  at  his  coachman. 

"The  devil!"  he  muttered. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Peter.  "I  suppose  ye '11  be 
dischargin'  me,  Mr.  Harry,  for  speakin',  but 
I  feel  it 's  me  dooty,  and  I  can't  keep  quiet. 


288       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

Beggin'  yer  pardon,  sir,  I  've  knowed  Miss 
Ethel  longer  than  you  have.  I  was  servin*  at 
Willowbrook  all  the  time  that  ye  was  in  boardin' 
school  an'  college.  Her  hair  was  hangin' 
down  her  back  an*  she  was  drivin'  a  pony  cart 
when  I  first  come.  I  watched  her  grow  and 
I  know  her  ways  —  there  was  times,  sir,  when 
she  was  most  uncommon  troublesome.  She  's 
the  kind  of  a  woman  as  needs  managin',  and 
if  ye  '11  excuse  me  for  sayin'  so,  it  takes  a  man 
to  do  it.  Ye  're  too  quiet  an'  gentleman-like, 
Mr.  Harry.  Though  I  guess  she  likes  to  have 
ye  act  like  a  gentleman,  when  ye  can't  do 
both  she  'd  rather  have  ye  act  like  a  man. 
If  I  was  her  husband 

"You  forget  yourself,  Peter!" 

"Yes,  sir.  Beg  yer  pardon,  sir,  but  as  I 
was  sayin',  if  I  was  her  husband,  I  'd  let  her 
see  who  was  master  pretty  quick,  an'  she  'd 
like  me  the  better.  And  if  she  ever  told  me 
she  would  be  glad  for  me  to  go  away  an'  nevei 
come  back,  I  'd  look  at  her  black  like  with  mt 


A  PARABLE  FOR  HUSBANDS      289 

arms  folded,  and  I  'd  say:  "Ye  would,  would 
ye  ?  In  that  case  I  '11  stay  right  here  an'  niver 
go  away.'  An'  then  she  'd  be  so  mad  she  'd 
put  her  head  down  on  the  back  o'  the  chair  an' 
cry,  deep  like,  the  way  she  always  did  when 
she  could  n't  have  what  she  wanted,  an'  I  'd 
wait  with  a  frown  on  me  brow,  an*  when  she 
got  through  she  'd  be  all  over  it,  an*  would 
ask  me  pardon  sorrowful  like;  an'  I  'd  wait 
a  while  an'  let  it  soak  in,  an*  then  I  'd 
forgive  her." 

Mr.  Harry  stared  at  Peter,  too  amazed  to 
speak. 

"Yes,  sir,"  Peter  resumed,  "I  've  watched 
Miss  Ethel  grow  up,  and  I  knows  her  like 
her  own  mother,  as  ye  might  say.  I  Ve  drove 
her  to  and  from  the  town  for  thirteen  years, 
and  I  've  rode  after  her  many  miles  on  horse 
back,  an'  when  she  felt  like  it  she  would  talk 
to  me  as  chatty  as  if  I  were  n't  a  groom.  She 
was  always  that  way  with  the  servants;  she 
took  an  interest  in  our  troubles,  an*  we  all 


29o      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

liked  her  spite  o'  the  fact  that  she  was  a  bit 
over-rulin'." 

Mr.  Harry  knit  his  brows  and  stared  ahead 
without  speaking,  and  Peter  glanced  at  him 
uneasily  and  hesitated. 

"  There  's  another  thing  I  'd  like  to  tell  ye, 
sir,  though  I  'm  not  sure  how  ye  '11  take  it." 

"Don't  hesitate  on  my  account,"  murmured 
Mr.  Harry,  ironically.  "Say  anything  you 
please,  Peter." 

"Well,  sir,  I  guess  ye  may  have  forgotten, 
but  I  was  the  groom  ye  took  with  ye  that  time 
before  ye  was  married  when  ye  an*  Miss  Ethel 
went  to  see  the  old  wreck." 

Mr.  Harry  looked  at  Peter  with  a  quick, 
haughty  stare;  but  Peter  was  examining  the 
end  of  his  whip  and  did  not  see. 

"An'  ye  left  me  an'  the  cart,  sir,  under  the 
bank,  if  ye  '11  remember,  an'  ye  did  n't  walk 
far  enough  away,  an'  ye  spoke  pretty  loud, 
and  I  could  n't  help  hearin'  ye." 

"Damn your  impertinence!"  said  Mr.  Harry. 


A  PARABLE  FOR  HUSBANDS      291 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Peter.  "I  never  told  no 
one,  not  even  me  wife,  but  I  understood  after 
that  how  things  was  goin'.  An'  when  ye  went 

O  O  J 

away  travellin'  so  sudden,  I  s'picioned  ye 
was  n't  feelin'  very  merry  over  the  trip;  an' 
I  watched  Miss  Ethel,  and  I  was  sure  she 
was  n't  feelin'  merry,  for  all  she  tried  mighty 
hard  to  make  people  think  she  was.  When 
they  was  lookin',  sir,  she  laughed  an'  flirted 
most  outrageous  with  them  young  men  as 
used  to  be  visitin'  at  Willowbrook,  but  I  knew, 
sir,  that  she  did  n't  care  a  snap  of  her  ringer 
for  any  o'  them,  for  in  between  times  she  used 
to  take  long  rides  on  the  beach,  with  me  followin' 
at  a  distance  —  at  a  very  respectful  distance; 
she  was  n't  noticin'  my  troubles  then,  she  had 
too  many  of  her  own.  When  there  were  n't  no 
one  on  the  beach  she  'd  leave  me  the  horses  an* 
walk  off  by  herself,  an'  sit  on  a  sand  dune,  an' 
put  her  chin  in  her  hand  an'  stare  at  the  water 
till  the  horses  was  that  crazy  with  the  sand 
flies  I  could  scarcely  hold  'em.  An*  sometimes 


292      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

she  Jd  put  her  head  down  an'  cry  soft  like,  fit 
to  break  a  man's  heart,  and  I  Jd  walk  the 
horses  off,  with  me  hands  just  itchin'  —  beggin' 
yer  pardon,  sir,  to  get  a  holt  o'  you,  for  I  knew 
that  ye  was  the  cause." 

"You  know  a  great  deal  too  much/'  said 
Mr.  Harry,  dryly. 

"A  groom  learns  considerable  without 
meanin'  to,  and  it 's  lucky  his  masters  is  if  he 
knows  how  to  keep  his  mouth  shut.  As  I 
was  sayin',  Mr.  Harry,  I  knew  all  the  time  she 
was  longin'  for  ye,  but  was  too  proud  to  let 
ye  know.  If  ye  '11  allow  the  impertinence,  sir, 
ye  made  a  mistake  in  the  way  ye  took  her  at 
her  word.  She  loved  ye  too  much  not  to  be 
willin'  to  forgive  ye  for  everything;  and  if  ye  'd 
only  understood  her  an*  handled  her  right, 
she  would  n't  'a'  throwed  ye  over." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean,  if  ye  '11  excuse  me  speakin'  alle 
gorical  like,  as  she  's  the  kind  of  a  woman  as 
needs  a  sharp  bit  and  a  steady  hand  on  the 


A  PARABLE  FOR  HUSBANDS      293 

bridle,  an'  when  she  bolts  a  touch  o'  the  lash 
—  not  too  much,  for  she  would  n't  stand  it, 
but  enough  to  let  her  see  who  's  master.  I  've 
known  some  women  an*  many  horses,  sir,  an* 
I  Ve  noticed  as  the  blooded  ones  is  alike  in 
both.  If  ye  '11  excuse  me  mentionin'  it,  Miss 
Ethel  was  badly  broke,  sir.  She  was  given 
the  rein  when  she  needed  the  whip,  but  for 
all  that,  she  's  a  thoroughbred,  sir,  an'  that 's 
the  main  thing." 

Peter  imperceptibly  slowed  his  horses. 

"  If  ye  don't  mind,  Mr.  Harry,  I  'd  like  to 
tell  ye  a  little  story.  It  happened  six  or  seven 
years  ago  when  ye  was  away  at  college,  and  if 
Miss  Ethel  is  a  bit  unreasonable  now,  she  was 
more  unreasonable  then.  It  was  when  the  old 
master  first  bought  Blue  Gypsy  —  as  was  a 
devil  if  there  ever  was  one.  One  afternoon 
Miss  Ethel  takes  it  into  her  head  she  wants  to 
try  the  new  mare,  so  she  orders  her  out,  with 
me  to  follow.  What  does  she  do  but  make 
straight  for  the  beach,  sir,  an'  gallop  along 


294       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

on  the  hard  sand  close  to  the  water-line.  It 
was  an  awful  windy  day  late  in  October,  with 
the  clouds  hangin'  low  an*  the  waves  dashin' 
high,  and  everything  sort  o'  empty  an*  lonesome. 
Blue  Gypsy  was  n't  used  to  the  water,  an'  she 
was  so  scared  she  was  'most  crazy,  rearin'  an' 
plungin'  till  ye  would  a  swore  she  had  a  dozen 
legs  —  not  much  of  a  horse  for  a  lady,  but  Miss 
Ethel  could  ride  all  right.  She  kept  Blue 
Gypsy's  head  to  the  wind  an'  galloped  four  or 
five  miles  up  the  beach,  with  me  poundin' 
along  behind,  hangin'  on  to  me  hat  for  dear  life. 
"  'T  was  ebb-tide,  but  time  for  the  flood, 
and  I  was  beginning  to  think  we  'd  better  go 
back,  unless  we  wanted  to  plough  through  the 
loose  shingle  high  up,  which  is  mighty  hard 
on  a  horse,  sir.  But  when  we  come  to  the 
Neck,  Miss  Ethel  rode  straight  on;  I  did  n't 
like  the  looks  of  it  much,  but  I  did  n't  say 
nothin*  for  the  Neck  's  never  under  water  an' 
there  were  n't  no  danger.  But  what  does  she 
do  when  we  comes  to  the  end  o'  the  Neck,  but 


A  PARABLE  FOR  HUSBANDS      295 

turn  to  ride  across  the  inlet  to  the  mainland, 
which  ye  can  do  easy  enough  at  low  tide,  but 
never  at  high.  The  sand  was  already  gettin* 
oozy,  an*  with  the  wind  blowin'  off  the  sea  the 
tide  was  risin'  fast.  Ye  know  what  it  would 
'a'  meant,  sir,  if  she  'd  gone  out  an'  got  caught. 
An'  what  with  that  unknown  devil  of  a  Blue 
Gypsy  she  was  ridin',  there  was  no  tellin' 
when  it  would  happen. 

'Miss  Ethel,'  I  calls,  sort  o'  commandin' 
like,  for  I  was  too  excited  for  politeness,  'ye 
can't  go  across.' 

"  She  turns  around  an'  stares  at  me  haughty, 
an'  goes  on. 

"I  gallops  up  an'  says:  'The  tide's  a  risin', 
Miss  Ethel,  an'  the  inlet  is  n't  safe/ 

"She  looks  me  over  cool  an'  says:  'It  is 
perfectly  safe.  I  am  goin'  to  ride  across; 
if  you  are  afraid,  Peter,  you  may  go  home.' 

"With  that  she  whips  up  an'  starts  off.  I 
was  after  her  in  a  minute,  gallopin*  up  beside 
her,  an'  before  she  knew  what  I  was  doin*  I 


296      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

reaches  out  me  hand  an'  grabs  hold  o*  the 
bridle  an*  turns  Blue  Gypsy's  head.  I  did  n't 
like  to  do  it,  for  it  seemed  awful  familiar,  but 
with  people  as  contrary  as  they  is,  sir,  ye  Ve 
got  to  be  familiar  sometimes,  if  ye  're  goin'  to 
do  any  good  in  the  world. 

"Well,  Mr.  Harry,  as  ye  can  believe,  she 
did  n't  like  it,  an'  she  calls  out  sharp  and 
imperative  for  me  to  let  go.  But  I  hangs 
on  an'  begins  to  gallop,  an'  with  that  she 
raises  her  crop  an'  cuts  me  over  the  hand  as 
hard  as  she  can.  It  hurt  considerable,  but  I 
held  on  an'  did  n't  say  nothin',  an'  she  raised 
her  arm  to  strike  again.  But  just  at  that 
moment  a  wave  broke  almost  at  the  horses' 
feet,  an'  Blue  Gypsy  reared,  an'  Miss  Ethel, 
who  was  n't  expectin'  it,  almost  lost  her  balance 
an'  the  crop  dropped  on  the  sand. 

'Peter,'  she  says,  'go  back  an'  get  me  that 
crop." 

"  But  by  that  time  I  *d  got  the  bit  in  me  teeth, 
sir,  an'  I  just  laughs  —  ugly  like  —  an'  keeps 


A  PARABLE  FOR  HUSBANDS     297 

holt  o*  the  bridle  an'  gallops  on.  Well,  sir, 
then  she  was  'most  crazy,  an'  she  tries  to  shake 
off  me  arm  with  her  fist,  but  she  might  as  well 
have  tried  to  shake  down  a  tree.  I  looks  at 
her,  an*  smiles  to  meself  impertinent,  an'  keeps 
on.  An'  she  looks  all  around,  desperate  like, 
hopin'  to  see  someone  within  call,  but  the 
beach  was  empty,  an'  there  was  n't  nothin' 
she  could  do,  I  bein'  so  much  stronger." 

"You  brute!"  said  Mr.  Harry. 

"I  was  savin'  her  life,"  said  Peter.  "An' 
when  she  saw  she  could  n't  do  nothin'  she  kind 
o'  sobbed  down  low  to  herself  an'  said,  soft  like : 
'/'//  discharge  you,  Peter  ^  when  we  get  home.' 

"I  touches  me  hat  an*  says  as  polite  as  ye 
please:  'Very  well,  miss,  but  we  ain't  home 
yet,  miss,  and  I  'm  boss  for  the  present.' 

"With  that  a  great  big  wave  comes  swash 
up  against  the  horses'  legs,  an*  lucky  it  is  that 
I  had  a  holt  o'  the  bridle,  for  Blue  Gypsy 
would  'a'  thrown  her  sure.  An'  after  I  got  her 
back  on  her  four  legs  —  Blue  Gypsy,  sir  —  an* 


298      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

we  was  goin'  on  again,  Miss  Ethel  throws  a 
look  over  her  shoulder  at  the  inlet  which  was 
all  under  water,  an'  then  she  looks  down  at  me 
hand  that  had  a  great  big  red  welt  across  it,  an' 
she  said  so  low  I  could  scarce  hear  her  over  the 
waves : 

'You  can  take  your  hand  away,  Peter.     I  '11 
ride  straight  home/ 

"I  knew  she  meant  it,  but  me  hand  was 
burnin'  like  fire,  and  I  'd  got  me  temper  up, 
so  I  looks  at  her  doubtin'  like,  as  if  I  could  n't 
believe  her,  an'  she  turns  red  an'  says,  'Can't 
ye  trust  me,  Peter  ? '  an'  with  that  I  touches  me 
hat  an'  falls  behind. 

"An*  when  we  got  back,  sir,  and  I  got  off  at 
the  porter-ker-cher  to  help  her  dismount, 
what  does  she  do  but  take  me  big  red  hand  in 
both  o'  hers,  an'  she  looks  at  the  scar,  an'  then 
she  looks  in  me  eyes,  an'  she  says,  like  as  ye 
hit  straight  from  the  shoulder,  sir,  'Peter,'  she 
says,  'I  'm  sorry  I  struck  you.  Will  ye  forgive 
me  ?'  she  says. 


A  PARABLE  FOR  HUSBANDS      299 

"An*  I  touches  me  hat  an'  says:  'Certainly, 
miss.  Don't  mention  it,  miss,'  an'  we  was 
friends  after  that. 

"An'  that  's  the  reason,  Mr.  Harry,  I  hate 
to  see  ye  go  off  an'  -  -  beggin'  yer  pardon  — 
make  a  fool  o'  yerself.  For  she  loves  ye  true, 
sir,  like  as  Annie  loves  me,  an'  I  know,  sir,  if 
she  took  it  hard  before  ye  was  married,  it  ud 
near  kill  her  now.  Ye  must  n't  mind  what  she 
says  when  she  's  angry,  for  she  just  thinks  o' 
the  worst  things  she  can  to  hurt  yer  feelin's, 
but  Lord!  sir,  she  don't  mean  it  no  more 'n  a 
rabbit,  an'  if  ye  '11  give  her  half  a  chance  and 
don't  act  like  an  iceberg  she  '11  want  to  make  up. 
Me  an'  Annie,  Mr.  Harry,  we  pulls  together 
lovely.  I  'm  the  boss  in  some  things,  an'  she  's 
the  boss  in  others;  I  lets  her  think  she  can 
manage  me,  an'  she  lets  me  think  I  can  manage 
her  —  and  I  can,  sir.  Sometimes  we  have 
little  quarrels,  but  it 's  mostly  for  the  joy  o* 
makin'  up,  an'  we  're  that  happy,  sir,  that  we 
wants  to  see  everyone  else  happy." 


3oo      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  PETER 

The  horses  had  slowed  to  a  walk,  but  Mr. 
Harry  did  not  notice  it.  A  smile  was  begin 
ning  to  struggle  with  the  hard  lines  about  his 
mouth* 

"Well,  Peter,"  he  said,  "you've  preached 
quite  a  sermon.  What  would  you  advise?" 

"That  ye  go  back  an'  take  a  firm  hold  o* 
the  bridle,  sir,  an'  if  she  uses  the  whip,  just 
hold  on  hard  an'  don't  let  on  that  it  hurts." 

Mr.  Harry  looked  at  Peter  and  the  smile 
spread  to  his  eyes.  "And  then  when  she  drops 
it,"  he  asked,  "just  laugh  and  ride  on  ?" 

Peter  coughed  a  deprecatory  cough. 

"Beggin'  yer  pardon,  Mr.  Harry,  I  think 
if  I  was  in  your  place  I  'd  pick  it  up  an'  keep  it 
meself.  It  might  come  in  handy  in  case  of 
emergencies." 

Mr.  Harry  threw  back  his  head  in  a  quick, 
boyish  laugh,  and  reaching  over  he  took  the 
lines  and  turned  the  horses'  heads. 

"Peter,"  he  said,  "you  may  be  elemental, 
but  I  half  suspect  you  're  right." 


"The  Books  You  Like  to  Read 
at  the  Price  You  Like  to  Pay" 


There  Are  Two  Sides 
to  Everything- 

— including  the  wrapper  which  covers 
every  Grossct  &  Dunlap  book.  When 
you  feel  in  the  mood  for  a  good  ro 
mance,  refer  to  the  carefully  selected  list 
of  modern  fiction  comprising  most  of 
the  successes  by  prominent  writers  of 
the  day  which  is  printed  on  the  back  of 
every  Grosset  &  Dunlap  book  wrapper. 

You  will  find  more  than  five  hundred 
titles  to  choose  from — books  for  every 
mood  and  every  taste  and  every  pocket- 
book. 

Don't  forget  the  other  side,  but  in  case 
the  wrapper  is  lost,  write  to  the  -publishers 
for  a  complete  catalog. 


There^is  a  Grosset  &  Dunlap  Book 
for  every  mood  and  for  every  taste 


B^M.JSOWER'8  NOVELS 

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CHIP  OF  THE  FLYING  U.    Wherein  tke love  affair*  of  Chip  and 

Delia  Whitman  are  charmingly  and  humiorously  bold. 
THE  HAPPY  FAMILY.     A  lively  and  amusing  etoty,  dealing  with 

the  adventures  of  eighteen  jovial,  big  hearted  Montana  cowboys. 
HER  PRAIRIE  KNIGHT.     Describing  a  gay  party  «f  Easterners 

who  exchange  a  cottage  at  Newport  for  a  Montana  ra»ch-house. 
THE  RANGE  DWELLERS.     Spirited  action,  a  rang*  feud  fee 

two  families,  and  a  Romeo  and  Juliet  courtship  Make  thia  a  bright, 

jolly  st*ry. 
THE  LURE  OF  THE  DIM  TRAILS.     A  vivid  portraral  of  the 

experience  of  an  Eastern  author  among  the  cowboys. 
THE  LONESOME  TRAIL.     A  little  branch  of  sage  brash  and  the 

recollectf»«  of  s.  pair  of  large  brown  eyes  upset  "Wear/*  David 
son's  j  >!*•«. 
THE  LONG  aBADOW.     A  vigorous  Western  etory,  •parkliag  with 

the  free  »utdoor  life  of  a  mountain  ranch.    It  Is  a  fiae  love  story. 
GOOD  INDIAN.     A  stirring  romance  of  life  on  an  laamo  ranch. 
FLYING  U  KANCH.     Another  delightful  story  aba«t  Chip  and 

his  paia. 
THE  FLYING  ITS  LAST  STAND.     An  amusing accoaat  of  Chip 

and  the  other  bays  opposing  a  party  of  school  teackera, 
THE  UPHILL  CLIMB.     A  story  of  a  mountain  ramch  and  of  a 

man's  hard  i«at  on  tlte  uphill  road  to  manliness. 
THE  PHANTOM  HERD.     The  title  of  a  moving-pict«re  rtaged  in 
~  New  Mexico  by  the  "Flying  U  "  boys. 
THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  SIOUX.     The  "  Flying  U  "  boys  stage 

a  fake  fcank  robbery  for  film  purposes  which  precede*  a  real  one 

for  lust  of  t»ld. 
THE  GRINGOS.     A  story  of  love  and  adve«ture  on  •  ranch  in 

California. 
STARR  OF  THE  DESERT.     A  New  Mexico  ranch  *t«ry  of  mys- 

ttry  and  adventere. 
THE  LOOKOUT  MAN.     A  Northern  California  story  fafl  ef  action, 

exutement  and  love. 


GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


ZANE  GREY'S  NOVELS 

May  b%  had  wherever  bosks  are  said.     Ask  for  Grosset  &  Ounlap's  list 

THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST 
THE  DESERT  OF  WHEAT j 
THE  U.  P.  TRAIL 
WILDFIRE 

THE  BORDER  LEGION^ 
THE  RAINBOW  TRAIL 
THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  DESERT 
RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE 
THE  LIGHT  OF  WESTERN  STARS 
THE  LAST  OF  THE  PLAINSMEN 
THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 
DESERT  GOLD 


BETTY  ZANE 

I* 


*  *  •  » 

LAST  OF  THE  GREAT  SCOUTS 


The  life  story  of  "Buffalo  Bill"  by  his  sister  Helen  Codj 
Wetmore,  with  Foreword  and  conclusion  by  Zane  Grey. 

ZANE  GREY'S  BOOKS  FOR  BOYS 

KEN  WARD  IN  THE  JUNGLE 
THE  YOUNG  LION  HUNTER 
THE  YOUNG  FORESTER 
THE  YOUNG  PITCHER 
THE  SHORT  STOP 

>     THE  RED-HEADED  OUTFIELD  AND  OTHER 
BASEBALL  STORIES 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


JAMES   OLIVER  CURWOOD'S 

STORIES  OF  ADVENTURE 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.       Ask  for  Grosset  fc  Dunlap's  list. 

THE  RIVER'S  END~~ 

A  story  of  the  Royal  Mounted  Police. 
THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Thrilling  advent-tires  in  the  Far  Northland. 
NOMADS  OF  THE  NORTH 

The  story  of  a  bear-cub  and  a  dog. 
KAZAN 

The  tale  of  a  "quarter-strain  wolf  and  three-quarters  husky"  torn 
between  the  call  of  the  human  and  his  wild  mate. 

BAREE,  SON  OF  KAZAN 

The  story  of  the  son  of  the  blind  Grey  Wolf  and  the  gallant  part 
he  played  in  the  lives  of  a  man  and  a  woman. 

THE  COURAGE  OF  CAPTAIN  PLUM 

The  story  of  the  King  of  Beaver  Island,  a  Mormon  colony,  and  his 
battle  with  Captain  Plum. 

THE  DANGER  TRAIL 

A  tale  of  love,  Indian  vengeance,  and  a  mystery  of  the  North. 
THE  HUNTED  WOMAN 

A  tale  of  a  great  fight  in  the  "  valley  of  gold"  for  a  woman. 
THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  NORTH 

The  story  of  Fort  o'  God,  where  the  wild  flavor  of  the  wilderness 
is  blended  with  the  courtly  atmosphere  of  France. 

THE  GRIZZLY  KING 

The  story  of  Thor,  the  big  grizzly. 
ISOBEL 

A  love  story  of  the  Far  North. 
THE  WOLF  HUNTERS 

A  thrilling  tale  of  adventure  in  the  Canadian  wilderness. 
THE  GOLD  HUNTERS 

The  story  of  adventure  in  the  Hudson  Bay  wilds. 
THE  COURAGE  OF  MARGE  O'DOONE 

Filled  with  exciting  incidents  hi  the  land  of  strong  men  and  women. 
BACK  TO  GOD'S  COUNTRY 

A  thrilling  story  of  the  Far  North.  The  great  Photoplay  was  made 
from  this  book. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


EDGAR  RICE  BURROUGH'S 
NOVELS 

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TARZAN  THE  UNTAMED 

Tells  of  Tarzan'  s  return  to  the  life  of  the  ape-man  in 
his  search  for  vengeance  on  those  who  took  from  him  his 
wife  and  home. 

JUNGLE  TALES  OF  TARZAN 

Records  the  many  wonderful  exploits  by  which  Tarzan 
proves  his  right  to  ape  kingship. 

A  PRINCESS  OF  MARS 

Forty-three  million  miles  from  the  earth — a  succession 
of  the  weirdest  and  most  astounding  adventures  in  fiction. 
John  Carter,  American,  finds  himself  on  the  planet  Mars, 
battling  for  a  beautiful  woman,  with  the  Green  Men  of 
Mars,  terrible  creatures  fifteen  feet  high,  mounted  on 
horses  like  dragons. 

THE  GODS  OF  MARS 

Continuing  John  Carter' s  adventures  on  the  Planet  Mars, 
in  which  he  does  battle  against  the  ferocious  "plant  men," 
creatures  whose  mighty  tails  swished  their  victims  to  instant 
death,  and  defies  Issus,  the  terrible  Goddess  of  Death, 
whom  all  Mars  worships  and  reveres. 

THE  WARLORD  OF  MARS 

Old  acquaintances,  made  in  the  two  other  stories,  reap 
pear,  Tars  Tarkas,  Tardos  Mors  and  others.  There  is  a 
happy  ending  to  the  story  in  the  union  of  the  Warlord, 
the  title  conferred  upon  John  Carter,  with  Dejah  Thoris. 

THUVIA,  MAID  OF  MARS 

The  fourth  volume  of  the  series.  The  story  centers 
around  the  adventures  of  Carthoris,  the  son  of  John  Car 
ter  and  Thuvia,  daughter  of  a  Martian  Emperor. 


QRQSSETjScJHJNLAP,  PUBLISHERS.  NEW  YORK 


MYRTLE    REED'S   NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  far  Gresset  and  Dunlin's  list. 

LAVENDER  AND  OLD  LACE. 

A  charming  story  of  a  quaint  corner  of  New  England.  The  story 
centers  round  the  coming  of  love  to  the  young  people  on  the  staff 
of  a  newspaper — and  is  one  of  the  sweetest  and  quaintea  of  old- 
fashioned  love  stories. 

FLOWER  OF  THE  DUSK. 

A  crippled  daughter  struggles  to  keep  up  the  deception  of  richee 
tor  the  comfort  of  a  blind  father.  Through  the  aid  of  an  heireee 
and  her  surgeon  lover  both  father  and  daughter  are  cured. 

MASTER  OF  THE  VINEYARD, 

A  pathetic  love  story  of  a  young  girl,  Rosemary.  The  teacher  of 
the  country  school,  who  is  also  master  of  the  vineyard,  comes  to 
know  her  through  her  desire  for  books.  She  is  happy  in  his  love  till 
another  woman  comes  into  his  life.  But  happiness  comes  to  Rose 
mary  at  last. 

OLD  ROSE  AND  SILVER. 

A  love  story, — sentimental  and  humorous, — with  the  plot  subor 
dinate  to  the  character  delineation  of  its  quaint  people  and  to  the 
exquisite  descriptions  of  picturesque  spots. 

A  WEAVER  OF  DREAMS. 

This  story  tells  of  the  love-affairs  of  three  young  people,  with  an 
old-fashioned  romance  in  the  background. 

A  SPINNER  IN  THE  SUN. 

An  old-fashioned  love  story  of  a  veiled  lady  who  lives  in  solitude. 
There  is  a  mystery  that  throws  over  it  the  glamour  of  romance, 

THE  MASTER'S  VIOLIN. 

A  love  story  in  a  musical  atmosphere,  An  old  German  virtuoso 
consents  to  take  for  his  pupil  a  youth  who  proves  to  have  an  apti 
tude  for  technique,  but  not  the  soul  of  an  artist.  But  a  girl 
comes  into  his  life,  and  through  his  passionate  love  for  her  his  soul 
awakes. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


NOVELS  OF  FRONTIER  LIFE  BY 

WILLIAM   MACLEOD   RAINE 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.        Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list 

MAVERICKS 

A  tale  of  the  western  frontier,  where  the  "rustler"  abounds.    One  of  the  sweetest 
love  stories  ever  told. 

A  TEXAS  RANGER 

How  a  member  of  the  border  police  saved  the  life  of  an  innocent  man,  followed  a 
fugitive  to  Wyoming,  and  then  passed  through  deadly  peril  to  ultimate  happiness. 

WYOMING 

In  this  vivid  story  the  author  brings  out  the  turbid  life  of  the  frontier  with  all  its 
engaging  dash  and  vigor. 

RIDGWAY  OF  MONTANA 

The  scene  is  laid  in  the  mining  centers  of  Montana,  where  politics  and  mining  in 
dustries  are  the  religion  of  the  country. 

BUCKY  O'CONNOR 

Every  chapter  teems  with  wholesome,  stirring  adventures,  replete  with  the  dashing 
spirit  of  the  border. 

CROOKED  TRAILS  AND  STRAIGHT 

A  story  of  Arizona  ;  of  swift-riding  men  and  daring  outlaws ;  of  a  bitter  feud  be 
tween  cattle-men  and  sheep-herders. 

BRAND  BLOTTERS 

A  story  of  the  turbid  life  of  the  frontier  with  a  charming  love  interest  running 
through  its  page*. 

STEVE  YEAGER 

A  story  brimful  of  excitement,  with  enough  pun-play  and  adventure  to  suit  anyone. 
A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

A  Western  story  of  romance  and  adventure,  comprising  a  vivacious  and  stirring 
tale. 
THE  HIGH  GRADER 

A  breezy,  pleasant  and  amusing  love  story  of  Western  mining  life. 
THE  PIRATE  OF  PANAMA 


A  tale  of  old-time  pirates  and  of  modern  love,  hate  and  adventure. 
THE  YUKON  TRAIL. 

A  crisply  entertaining  love  story  in  the  land  where  might  makes  right. 
THE  VISION  SPLENDID 

In  which  two  cousins  are  contestants  for  tke  same  prizes ;  political  honors  and  the 
hand  of  a  girl. 

THE   SHERIFF'S  SON 

The  hero  finally  conquers  both  himself  and  his  enemies  and  wins  the  love  of  a 
wonderful  girl. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,          PUBLISHERS,          NEW  YORK 


ELEANOR  H.  PORTER'S  NOVELS 

May  ba  had  wherever  books  are  sold.        Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dtinlap's  Its! 

JUST  DAVID 

The  tale  of  a  loveable  boy  and  the  place  he  comes  to 
fill  in  the  hearts  of  the  gruff  farmer  folk  to  whose  care  he 
is  left. 

THE  ROAD  TO  UNDERSTANDING 

A  compelling  romance  of  love  and  marriage. 
OH,  MONEY  !   MONEY  ! 

Stanley  Fulton,  a  wealthy  bachelor,  to  test  the  disposi 
tions  of  his  relatives,  sends  them  each  a  check  for  $100,- 
000,  and  then  as  plain  John  Smith  comes  among  them  to 
watch  the  result  of  his  experiment. 

SIX  STAR  RANCH 

A  wholesome  story  of  a  club  of  six  girls  and  their  sum 
mer  on  Six  Star  Ranch. 

DAWN 

The  story  of  a  blind  boy  whose  courage  leads  him 
through  the  gulf  of  despair  into  a  final  victory  gained  by 
dedicating  his  life  to  the  service  of  blind  soldiers. 

ACROSS  THE  YEARS 

Short  stories  of  our  own  kind  and  of  our  own  people. 
Contains  some  of  the  best  writing  Mrs.  Porter  has  done. 

THE  TANGLED  THREADS 

In  these  stories  we  find  the  concentrated  charm  and 
tenderness  of  all  her  other  books. 

THE  TIE  THAT  BINDS 

Intensely  human  stories  told  with  Mrs.  Porter's  won 
derful  talent  for  warm  and  vivid  character  drawing. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,         PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


THE  NOVELS  OF 

WINSTON  CHURCHILL 

THE  INSIDE  OF  THE  CUP.    Illustrated  by  Howard  Giles. 

The  Reverend  John  Hodder  is  called  to  a  fashionable  church  in 
a  middle- western  city.  He  knows  little  of  modern  problems  and  in 
his  theology  is  as  orthodox  as  the  rich  men  who  control  his  church 
could  desire.  But  the  facts  of  modern  life  are  thrust  upon  him;  an 
awakening  follows  and  in  the  end  he  works  out  a  solution. 
A  FAR  COUNTRY.  Illustrated  by  Herman  Pfeifer. 

This  novel  is  concerned  with  big  problems  of  the  day.    As  Tht. 
Inside  q/  Hie  Cup  gets  down  to  the  essentials  in  its  discussion  of  re 
ligion,  so  A  Far  Country  deals  in  a  story  that  is  intense  and  dra 
matic,  with  other  vital  issues  confronting  the  twentieth  century. 
A  MODERN  CHRONICLE.    Illustrated  by  J.  H.  Gardner  Soper. 

This,  Mr.   Churchill's  first  great  presentation  of  the  Eternal 
Feminine,  is  throughout  a  profound  study  of  a  fascinating  young 
American  woman.     It  is  frankly  a  modern  love  story. 
MR.  CREWE'S  CAREER.     lilus.  by  A.  I.  Keller  and  Kinneys. 

A  new  England  state  is  under  the  political  domination  of  a  rail 
way  and  Mr.  Crewe,  a  millionaire,  seizes  a  moment  when  the  cause 
of  the  tieople  is  being  espoused  by  an  ardent  young  attorney,  to  fur 
ther  Ins  own  interest  in  a  political  way.  The  daughter  of  the  rail 
way  president  plays  no  small  part  in  the  situation. 
THE  CROSSING.  Illustrated  by  S.  Adamson  and  L.  BayV_ 

Describing  the  battle  of  Fort  Monltrie,  the  blazing  of  the  Ken» 
tucky  wilderness,  the  expedition  of  Clark  and  his  handful  of  follow 
ers  in   Illinois,  the  beginning  of    civilization  along  the  Ohio  and 
Mississippi,  and  the  treasonable  schemes  against  Washington. 
CONISTON.    Illustrated  by  Florence  Sccvel  Shinn. 

A  deft  blending  of  love  and  politics.    A  New  Englander  is  ths 
hero,  a  crude  man  who  rose  to  political  prominence  by  his  own  pow 
ers,  and  then  surrendered  all  for  the  love  of  a  woman. 
THE  CELEBRITY.    An  episode. 

An  inimitable  bit  of  comedy  describing  an  interchange  of  per- 
sonalities  between  a  celebrated  author  and  fr  bicycle  salesman.    It 
is  the  purest,  keenest  fun — and  is  American  to-  the  core. 
THE  CRISIS.     Illustrated  with  scenes  from  Vhe  Photo-Play. 

A  book  that  presents  the  great  crisis  in  our  national  life  witl 
splendid  power  and  with  a  sympathy,  a  sincerity,  and  a  patriotism 
f  tnat  are  inspiring. 
RICHARD  CARVEL.    Illustrated  by  Malcolm  Frazer. 

An  historical  novel  which  gives  a  real  and  vivid  picture  ot  Co 
lonial  times,  and  is  good,  clean,  spirited  reading  in  all  its  phases  and 
interesting  throughout. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,      PUBLISHERS,     NEW  YORK 


"STORM  COUNTRY"  BOOKS  BY 

GRACE  MILLER  WHITE 

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JUDY  OF  ROGUES'  HARBOR 

Judy's  untutored  ideas  of  God,  her  love  of  wild  things, 
her  faith  in  life  are  quite  as  inspiring  as  those  of  Tess. 
Her  faith  and  sincerity  catch  at  your  heart  strings.  This 
book  has  all  of  the  mystery  and  tense  action  of  the  other 
Storm  Country  books. 

TESS  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY 

It  was  as  Tess,  beautiful,  wild,  impetuous,  that  Mary 
Pickford  made  her  reputation  as  a  motion  picture  actress. 
How  love  acts  upon  a  temperament  such  as  hers — a  tem 
perament  that  makes  a  woman  an  angel  or  an  outcast,  ac 
cording  to  the  character  of  the  man  she  loves — is  the 
theme  of  the  story. 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY 

The  sequel  to  "  Tess  of  the  Storm  Country,"  with  the 
same  wild  background,  with  its  half-gypsy  life  of  the  squat 
ters — tempestuous,  passionate,  brooding.  Tess  learns  the 
"  secret "  of  her  birth  and  finds  happiness  and  love  through 
her  boundless  faith  in  life. 

FROM  THE  VALLEY  OF  TPIE  MISSING 

A  haunting  story  with  its  scene  laid  near  the  country 
familiar  to  readers  of  "  Tess  of  the  Storm  Country." 

ROSE  O'  PARADISE 

"  Jinny  "  Singleton,  wild,  lovely,  lonely,  but  with  a  pas 
sionate  yearning  for  music,  grows  up  in  the  house  of  Lafe 
Grandoken,  a  crippled  cobbler  of  the  Storm  Country.  Her 
romance  is  full  of  power  and  glory  and  tenderness. 

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GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


STORIES  OF  RARE  CHARM  BY 

GENE  STRATTON-PORTBR 


Kay  ba  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  and  Dunlap's  list 

LADDIE. 

Illustrated  by  Herman  Pfeifer. 

This  is  a  bright,  cheery  tale  with  tin 
scenes  laid  in  Indiana.  The  story  is  told 
by  Little  Sister,  the  youngest  member  <X' 
a  large  family,  but  it  is  concerned  not  so 
much  with  childish  doings  as  with  the  love> 
affairs  of  older  members  of  the  family. 
Chief  among  them  is  that  of  Laddie,  the 
older  brother  whom  Little  Sister  adores, 
and  the  Princess,  an  English  girl  who  has 
come  to  live  in  the  neighborhood  and  about 
whose  family  there  hangs  a  mystery, 
There  is  a  wedding  midway  in  the  book 
and  a  double  wedding  at  the  close. 
fHE  HARVESTER.  Illustrated  by  W.  L.  Jacobs. 

"The  Harvester,"  David  Langston,  is  a  man  of  the  woods  and 
62  Ids,  who  draws  his  living  from  the  prodigal  hand  of  Mother 
Nature  herself.  If  the  book  had  nothing  in  it  but  the  splendid  figure 
of  this  man  it  would  be  notable.  But  when  the  Girl  comes  to  his 
"Medicine  Woods,"  and  the  Harvester's  whole  being  realizes  that 
this  is  the  highest  point  of  life  which  has  come  to  him — there  begins 
a  romance  of  the  rarest  idyllic  quality. 
FRECKLES.  Decorations  by  E.  Stetson  Crawford. 

Freckles  is  a  nameless  waif  when  the  tale  opens,  but  the  way  ^ 
which  he  takes  hold  of  life;  the  nature  friendships  he  forms  in  the 
CTcat  Limberlost  Swamp;  the  manner  in  which  everyone  who  meets 
nim  succumbs  to  the  charm  of  his  engaging  personality;  and  hi* 
,ove-story  with  "The  Angel"  are  full  of  real  sentiment. 
\  GIRL  OF  THE  LIMBERLOST. 
Ulustrated  by  Wladyslaw  T.  Brenda. 

The  story  of  a  girl  of  the  Michigan  woods;  a  buoyant.  !ova"»V 
type  of  the  self-reliant  American.  Her  philosophy  is  one  of  love  and 
kindness  towards  all  things;  her  hope  is  ner«r  dimmed.  And  by  tho 
Sheer  beauty  of  her  soul,  and  the  purity  of  her  vision,  she  wins  from 
barren  and  unpro»*sing  surroundings  those  rewards  of  high  courage, 
AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW. 
(lustrations  in  colors  by  Oliver  Kemp. 

,  The  scene  of  this  charming  love  story  is  laid  in  Central  Indian*. 
The  story  is  one  of  devoted  friendship,  and  tender  self-sacrinctaflB 
ove.  The  novel  is  brimful  of  the  most  beautiful  word  painting  of 
its  pathos  and  tender  sentiment  will  endear  it  to  all. 


GROSSET  &  DUNIAF,     PUBLISHERS,     NE"W  YORK 


THE   NOVELS   OF 

IRVING  BACHELLER 

Full  of  the  real  atmosphere  of  American  home  life. 

THE   HAND-MADE   GENTLEMAN.      With  a   double- 
page  frontispiece. 

The  son  of  a  wash-woman  begins  re-making  himself 
socially  and  imparts  his  system  to  his  numerous  friends.  A 
story  of  rural  New  York  with  an  appreciation  of  American 
types  only  possible  from  the  pen  of  a  humor  loving  American. 

PARREL  OF   THE    BLESSED    ISLES.    With  illustra 
tions  by  Arthur  I.  Keller. 

A  tale  of  the  North  Country.  In  Barrel,  the  clock  tinker, 
wit,  philosopher  and  man  of  mystery,  is  portrayed  a  force  held 
in  fetters  and  covered  with  obscurity,  yet  strong  to  make  its 
way,  and  widely  felt. 

D'RI  AND  I;     A  Tale  of  Daring  Deeds  in  the  Second  War 

with  the  British.     Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 
"  D'ri"  was  a  mighty  hunter,  quaint,  rugged,  wise,  truth 
ful.     He  fights  magnificently  on  the  Lawrence,  and  is  a  strik 
ing  figure  in  this  enthusiastic  romance  of  early  America. 

EBEN  HOLDEN:     A  Tale  of  the  North  Country. 

A  story  of  the  hardy  wood-choppers  of  Vermont,  who 
founded  their  homes  in  the  Adirondack  wilderness.  "  Eben," 
the  hero,  is  a  bachelor  with  an  imagination  that  ifc  a  very 
wilderness  of  oddities. 

SILAS  STRONG:   Emperor  of  the  Woods. 

A  simple  account  of  one  summer  life,  as  it  was  lived  in  a 
part  of  the  Adirondacks.  Silas  Strong  is  a  woodland  philos 
opher,  and  his  camp  is  the  scene  of  an  impressive  little  love 
story. 

VERGILIUS:    A  Tale  of  the  Coming  of  Christ. 

•  A  thrilling  and  beautiful  story  of  two  young  Roman 
Patricians  whose  great  and  perilous  love  in  the  reign  of 
Augustus  leads  them  through  the  momentous,  exciting  events 
that  marked  the  year  just  preceding  the  birth  of  Christ. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


University  of  California 

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rJAN23  1998 

\ri  A*"*    «t    C 

VI I  1  o  { 


A     000  073  095     2 


